


Ransom’s Continuing Journey Into Decency

by forgetmenotjimmy



Series: Put Me To The Flame [2]
Category: Knives Out (2019)
Genre: Beards (Facial Hair), Benoit thinks tea solves everything, Bitterness, F/F, F/M, Forgiveness, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Relationship, Prison, Self-Discovery, Self-Improvement, Self-Worth Issues, Swearing, charity work/volunteering, mention of child death, mention of child grooming, rich people are the worst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:14:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25131469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forgetmenotjimmy/pseuds/forgetmenotjimmy
Summary: In which Ransom tries to mend bridges, let go of the past and work out what to do with his new life.With a little help from his friends, he realizes that he can keep on growing and changing, and that some doors never close.
Relationships: Alicia Cabrera/Original Character, Marta Cabrera/Ransom Drysdale
Series: Put Me To The Flame [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1718947
Comments: 25
Kudos: 223





	1. Friends, apparently

**Author's Note:**

> So this has been a long time coming. Lots of thanks to betas TiredQueen and spinncr, as well as imperatorme for checking the Spanish.  
> Thanks for reading and let me know what you think  
> :D

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I have a new case.” Benoit announced one morning.  
> “Okay.” Ransom answered slowly.  
> “I wondered if you might accompany me, be an extra set of eyes.” Benoit elaborated. Ransom put the paper down, unease roiling in his stomach.  
> “This is a pity invite.”  
> “No. Not at all.” When Ransom just stared at him incredulously, Benoit tilted his head. “I need someone to carry my bag.”

The first two days, Benoit left Ransom to his own devices. Benoit had some paperwork to take care of and books to finish reading, and of course, Phyllis to grovel to for being away so long. Unlike humans with their complex motivations and selfish actions, cats were simple with their demands: attention, food, independence, attention, naps, more attention. Phyllis was no different and he made sure to comb her long coat as much as he could when he was home, to make up for any long absences.

Benoit figured the change of scenery and absence of pressure – not to mention money-grabbing, murderous, relatives – would help clear Ransom’s head. Goodness knows that Benoit sometimes needed a quiet few days to recover and reset from particularly rough cases. 

They ate meals together, Ransom wandering in and picking at his food, reluctantly helping Benoit clear away. The rest of the time he seemed to be brooding, staring out of windows and occasionally looking at his phone before putting it down with a grimace. Phyllis had been wary of Ransom at first, but seeing a warm and stable lap, she capitalized. He didn’t comment, barely seeming to notice her there beyond stroking behind her silky ears every so often, his gaze distant.

The morning of the third day, Benoit felt well-rested and rejuvenated. He knocked on the guest bedroom door. Silence. He knocked again. It was earlier than Ransom’s usual time for appearing in the main rooms but not by much.

“Ransom!” 

A groan came from inside. Tentatively, Benoit opened the door to see a sleepy Ransom sitting up in bed, rubbing his eyes. “I’m going for a stroll around the grounds and I wonder if you’d like to join me.” 

Ransom wearily blinked at him before glancing at the window, where the morning light was filtering in through a gap in the navy curtains. 

He sighed and shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

“Capital! Meet me by the back door in ten.”

It was cold out, but both of them were wrapped up in coats, and with their breath condensing in the chilly air, it all reminded Benoit of his childhood visiting his father in this house. It had hardly changed since those carefree days, when little Benoit’s only concern had been getting his parents back together. All they needed now was snow to complete the picture. Neither spoke for a while until Ransom asked.

“What do you want me to call you?” 

Benoit’s mind turned, what was the real purpose of that question? He considered the man with three names as he answered.

“As you are a guest of mine, Benoit will suffice. And me? What shall I call you?” 

His guest took a long moment to answer. “Hugo.” 

He pronounced the name with the ‘h’ sound, but Benoit still heard Marta’s plaintive voice crying out his name. He decided not to mention that, seeing the sound was on Ransom’s mind as well. Instead, he nodded and they started back to the house. Frowning, Benoit stopped walking. 

“Who might that be?” 

There was a car parked in front of the house. Ransom squinted before relaxing.

“It’s Anita.”

“Your friend?”

“The one and only.”

“You tell her you were here?” 

Ransom shook his head though he didn’t look surprised. “She has her ways.”

“Well,” Benoit continued back towards the house, “I suppose I should put a brew on.”

…

Anita hadn’t been sure what she’d been expecting when seeing Ransom again. Despite his brash claims, she knew that he really had loved his grandfather, to lose the man to murder had to have been hard on him. Add to that his break up with Marta, someone who’d impacted him like no one else he’d ever met, well, it had been a tough few days to say the least.

She was still taken aback by his pale complexion though. Still surprised by how tired he looked. He had been neglecting his beauty regime for almost two years but he’d still washed and shaved and kept fit. Now his face was stubbly, hair limp and his whole body was slumping.

He made an effort to smile as he saw her and accepted her hug awkwardly. Anita couldn’t forget the utter panic that had gripped her when she’d read his odd message, thanking her for all her help, the ‘goodbye forever’ lying behind the words. The tense minutes before he’d answered the phone still made her shiver to think about, even in his very alive presence.

Benoit Blanc was a nice surprise, however; a cordial and intelligent host, he sized Anita up and seemed to have an accurate reading on their friendship when he spoke.

“You’re the friend who called.” 

Ransom winced but didn’t comment.

“Yes.” Anita answered. Blanc looked between them before announcing he was going to make tea. Anita watched him leave before turning on Ransom. “I want you to know that I really want to hit you right now.”

“Okay…Thanks for the warning?” He responded with his eyebrow raised.

“I won’t because I can control myself.” She continued, voice wobbling a little. “Promise me that you won’t ever do anything that stupid again.”

“It was nothing.” His jaw clenched and he shook his head once.

“Promise me.” Her calm tone left no room for argument, vowing retribution if he even thought about doing anything like that again. 

“Fine. I promise.” He replied sarcastically but she accepted it as if he’d been serious. Underneath his snappy retorts, she could tell that he was shaken. Anita let the silence sit, regaining control of her emotions. 

Blanc came back with tea and they all sat down in the living room, sipping it quietly. After a few minutes, Anita asked Blanc about his work and they chatted for a while. When she felt that Ransom was ready, she asked him what she had been waiting to since she heard the news:

“What are you going to do now?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, voice listless. “Go back to listening to rich assholes complain about pushups, wishing I was rich… or drunk.”

“You can be better than that.”

“So everyone keeps saying,” he snapped, “I’m sorry you wasted your time.”

“I don’t waste my time, Ransom.” She insisted staunchly as she leaned forward to meet his gaze. “I invest it.”

His eyes were watering a little as he stared back at her, but after a taught moment he looked down, sniffing. 

Sighing, she went on. “At first I didn’t really believe that you would manage to keep it up but then I saw the photo of you and Marta at Christmas. And you started asking me how I was instead of just asking for advice.” Ransom’s face scrunched a little but Anita ignored it, needing to finish, to explain. “Plus you tried to protect Alicia. I am your friend Ransom, because you deserve one and because you’ve been a friend to me.”

In the quiet that followed, Ransom’s hitched breath seemed uncomfortably loud. Anita put a tentative hand on his arm and, like a damn breaking, Ransom began sobbing in earnest. Without any hesitation, she pulled him to her, wrapping her arms around as much of him as she could. Holding him as he trembled and cried, she had to swallow back her own tears. Never had she thought she would care this much about a man like Ransom, though Ransom had proven himself able to change…maybe she’d changed a little too.

She had to go back to work the next day so didn’t stay long. Blanc promised her to keep an eye on her friend and Ransom promised to keep in contact.

“Gotta keep up this friendship thing.” He joked weakly. Anita kissed him on the cheek in reply.

…

“I have a new case.” Benoit announced one morning. Ransom looked up from the paper he’d been pretending to read; in his opinion, once you’d read the headline and the first paragraph, there wasn’t much point reading the rest of the article. Just because it took him longer than most to read didn’t mean he was less educated on current events. He didn’t know how to read Benoit’s expression, however, especially with the man staring at him expectantly.

“Okay.” Ransom answered slowly.

“I wondered if you might accompany me, be an extra set of eyes.” Benoit elaborated. Ransom put the paper down, unease roiling in his stomach.

“This is a pity invite.”

“No. Not at all.” When Ransom just stared at him incredulously, Benoit tilted his head. “I need someone to carry my bag.”

“I still don’t see why this isn’t a pity invite.”

“You need something to occupy yourself with and I’d feel better to have you around.” Benoit replied, obviously giving up being coy.

“You never said why you were helping me in the first place.” Ransom pointed out, folding his arms across his chest.

“People usually only call me after someone’s died.” Benoit replied after a short pause, voice soft and regretful. “Just this once I’d like to try and save someone.”

“Hmm.” Ransom hummed, not sure how he felt about a stranger trying to ‘save him’. The detective and Anita had both sorely overestimated his depression. Not wanting to get into it, he said instead. “I could fuck this up for you.”

Benoit smirked. “I forgive your underestimation of my talents as my last case was not my finest work.”

Ransom considered. In the end, he guessed he didn’t have any reason to say no. “What the hell? Okay.”

Benoit grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's all done except Ch 8, which will hopefully be completed by the end of the month. So I'll upload twice a week.  
> Thanks for reading  
> :D


	2. A New Direction

The case seemed fairly straightforward: a priceless diamond necklace stolen from a locked safe whilst a rich family was having a dinner party. The hostess, Marissa, was dead sure that one of the servants had taken the item though her brother, Daniel, had hired Benoit when a search of the servant’s homes hadn’t turned up anything. Ignoring Marissa’s scathing remarks, Benoit set about his investigation ‘free from bias’ as he told Ransom.

Almost every guest and servant had temporarily left the rest of the party within the time frame so Benoit hadn’t eliminated many suspects. Ransom found watching Benoit work mildly interesting: keen eyes observed the interactions of suspects and police closely but the detective only interrupted sparingly, to tease out more clues. Ransom followed him as he stole through the house, cataloging things, considering angles, entrances and exits. Ransom wondered what was going through the detective’s mind and was pleased when Benoit chose to share his thoughts. The detective pointed out that the safe had some scratches on the outside but hadn’t suffered much blunt force trauma.

“Someone wanted it to _look like_ it had been broken into.” Ransom suggested.

Benoit smiled. “Bingo.” He went on to point out some other observations, almost casually, as if seeing them came as easy as breathing. Within a few minutes of assessing the writing desk, Benoit had revealed a hidden compartment with some financial papers inside.

Impressed, Ransom kept his admiration to himself as Benoit moved to questioning the suspects. They were entitled and defensive by turns, some quite crafty with how they dodged questions they didn’t want to answer. Benoit didn’t push too hard, accepting cop outs easily, though it was clear his mind kept turning. Ransom missed the moment that Benoit figured out the most likely suspect so was just as surprised as everyone else when the detective went in for the kill.

Marissa scoffed at Benoit’s mention of her financial troubles and baulked when he implied pretty heavily that she would run an insurance scam. Calmly, Benoit exposed how the woman had been cleverly concealing the difficulties by siphoning money through different accounts and putting extravagant purchases on numerous credit cards under various names, as evidenced by the papers he’d uncovered.

She denied it all but Ransom, the police detective and Daniel were more than considering the idea.

“Search the cook’s car!” Marissa burst out, eyes darting between the gathered members. “He stole it. I _know_ he did!”

“And how would you know where he would have stashed them?” Benoit asked calmly. Marissa’s mouth opened and closed but no sound came out. She looked to her brother.

“Marissa.” Daniel half-sighed.

Marissa’s eyes began to water as she stammered. “You d-d-don’t b-believe him, do you?”

Daniel didn’t answer and barely looked at her as she was arrested. Ransom glanced at Benoit and saw a flash of something on his face but decided against prying. After wrapping things up with the local police, they left.

“Wow.” Ransom commented when they were driving away. Benoit’s lip twitched upwards a little.

“That was fairly easy, I must admit.”

“Still, you must have solved that in record time. What’s the fastest you’ve ever solved a crime?”

Benoit considered. “From hiring to arriving at the conclusion…five hours, I think.”

Ransom whistled and then pestered a patient Benoit with more questions the whole drive back.

When they got back to the house, Ransom finally remembered that he had a job and rang his boss.

“I understand, my dear.” Brenda told him. “You take all the time you need. I will find someone else in the meantime but you can reapply when you are ready.” Ransom was taken aback by this offer. How Brenda still had a business with her compassion was beyond him. Even as he thanked her though, he knew that he wouldn’t be going back to personal training. He just had to figure out what he’d do instead.

…

Ransom took a few deep breaths in before pushing into the room. The hospital room was familiar – the smell, the bland colors, the soft furnishings and, of course, the machines. He recognized them all from his own hospital stay. The patient was looking out of the window when he entered but turned at the sound of the door.

Ransom had debated for a long time whether to risk going – both in terms of how she’d react and his own sensitivity to that terrible shared memory.

Benoit hadn’t seemed to know how to advise him when Ransom had asked, pointing out all the positives and negatives Ransom had thought of himself. Anita had been more decisive: telling him that he’d regret losing the opportunity to clear at least part of his conscience.

Fran looked terrible; face grey, eyes baggy, hair limp. She’d aged a lot since he’d last seen her. Ransom knew from Benoit that the burn on her leg had become infected and she’d also been ill with a virus so was only just strong enough for visitors again.

He knew he also looked different but for whatever reason, Fran’s expression when she recognized him was exactly the same as before.

“What are you doing here?” She snapped. Well, he’d prepared for hostility.

“Wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Why? To laugh at me? To lord over me how _you_ came out perfectly fine because _of course_ you did!” 

The bitterness was so sharp he could feel it against his skin. It was hard to get offended though, what with her in a hospital bed. She wasn’t wrong either – he’d come away pretty much unscathed.

“You always had all the luck.” She continued. “Such a mean, selfish asshole and you never suffer any consequences!” 

Somehow he didn’t think bringing up losing the love of his life would get him any sympathy. He doubted very much that Fran would ever see him as anything other than what he had been for years.

“I’m sorry.” He cut to the chase. “I’m sorry for how I treated you. You didn’t deserve it.”

She glared at him for a long moment, mouth hanging open a little. 

Then she rallied. “What? No apology for leaving me in that fire?”

He frowned. “I didn’t…”

“I would have died if not for Davidl!” She glanced at the dresser and he noticed the tasteful bouquet there. 

Shaking his head, he insisted. “No, _I_ pulled you out.”

She scoffed weakly. “Like you would.”

Incredulous, Ransom snapped back. “You were unconscious and-”

“And David ran in and rescued me!”

Ransom stared at her, remembering the bystander and guessing he was this David. David the Savior. Fran looked very tense and her heartrate had spiked. If she got any more riled up, someone might come in and Ransom really didn’t feel like getting his ass handed to him by a hard headed nurse.

Closing his eyes briefly, he took a steadying breath. “Whatever. I’m just sorry for the years of being an asshole.”

Fran didn’t reply, looking resolutely at the wall. Cursing Anita for talking him into it, Ransom huffed and left. 

“Fran is just one person,” Anita pointed out matter-of-factly, “you don’t need to have everyone to like you.” 

Ransom huffed down the phone at her, unwilling to explain exactly why her refusal to forgive him had stung so badly. 

Anita worked it out anyway, because she was annoyingly smart. “She’s not Marta.” 

Ransom swallowed and stared out of his car windshield at the hospital car park. 

Anita asked. “How is she, anyway?”

“How should I know?” He snapped back, half-snarling.

“You haven’t kept in contact with Alicia?” Anita questioned and Ransom bit down a sardonic laugh.

“As if she would give me the time of day.”

“She hasn’t even called to yell at you?” Anita sounded incredulous, so much so that Ransom paused. That did sound like something Alicia would do. 

For the first time, he wondered why she hadn’t gone off on him. He contemplated if she’d even gone to his house, looking for a fight in person. Maybe that’s why she hadn’t sent him abusive messages. He hadn’t been on her Instagram since it had all gone to Hell, but he hadn’t received anything from her nonetheless.

“No.” He answered and Anita’s silence made him suspicious. “Why? Do you know something?”

“Well, she may have called me a while ago.”

“And? What did she say?” Ransom asked, feeling ice encrusting his gut.

“What you’d expect. I told her to wait a while before daring to talk to you,” she hummed, “I didn’t think my threats would be this effective.”

“You threatened her?” Ransom’s insides thawed a little.

“Well, a little maybe.” Anita hedged but Ransom’s smile didn’t dim, not even when she continued more seriously. “I just didn’t want you to be overwhelmed.”

“Thanks, Anita.”

“Anytime, sunshine.”

…

On the next case, Benoit got into a fight and pulled his shoulder.

“I did not ‘get into a fight’,” he argued futilely as Ransom helped him put his shirt back on. The ER doctor looked like she was suppressing a smile as she watched them.

“Uh huh.” Ransom murmured.

“I was assisting the police in apprehending a murderer.”

“Maybe next time you should do a nice, safe theft or something like cybercrime?” Ransom suggested.

As Benoit glared, the doctor interrupted regretfully. “I’m prescribing some medication for the pain and also plenty of rest – for at least a few weeks.” To Ransom she added. “You might need to help your father around the house, if you live close.”

Benoit opened his mouth to correct her but Ransom grinned, patting the older man on the good shoulder.

“I will, don’t you worry.”

Benoit made a strangled sound but Ransom continued gleefully.

“No, no, you’re done so much for me, it’s only fair I start looking after you.” Benoit scowled but only grumbled in protest as they left.

The next few days were frustrating for the both of them. Benoit was in pain and couldn’t move his shoulder properly. Ransom was trying to help and hated being rebuffed when it was obvious Benoit needed him.

“I know it sucks,” Ransom began, tight-lipped as he watched Benoit struggle into his coat with one hand, “but there’s no shame in needing help.”

“I can do it. I am not an invalid!” Benoit ground out. Ransom folded his arms and watched placidly as Benoit twisted and grunted for another minute. It didn’t take long for Benoit to give up, glancing at Ransom like a tired toddler. Wordlessly, Ransom stepped up and gently helped Benoit into his coat.

“I’m coming with you.” He told Benoit. “In case you fall on your face.”

His grumpy charge didn’t argue, only waiting until Ransom was ready before heading out. Benoit had to walk slower than normal and kept one eye trained on the ground for loose twigs or stones which might trip him up. Ransom accompanied him silently.

“Sorry.” Benoit offered after a while, but Ransom waved the apology away.

“I’ve probably given you worse. I know it’s difficult to lose independence, so.”

“The car accident?” Benoit asked. 

Ransom nodded. “I was miraculously intact but still needed a few weeks of rehab.” He huffed a laugh. “Walking without a cane is the best feeling in the world.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Benoit get an idea but he only looked at Ransom, not voicing it. 

Ransom continued. “I’ve been thinking about what I’m going to do next. I might retrain as a physical therapist.”

He’d already had a little experience helping Benoit with his injury and thought he’d be able to cope better with people complaining about doing exercise if it was for a nobler cause than shedding a few pounds. If he concentrated, he could.

“Sounds like a fine idea. A very rewarding profession.” Benoit smiled at him and Ransom smiled back, his eyes glinting as he pointed out.

“So you should probably let me practice a bit more on you.” He laughed as Benoit grumbled.

…

He had nightmares sometimes. Not too often, just enough to catch up with some TV series in the early morning and make Benoit’s brow wrinkle ever so slightly. Luckily for Ransom, unluckily for Benoit, Benoit had them too so he didn’t pester Ransom to open up. Whenever sleeplessness took hold of them both; Benoit would make tea and they’d watch something together.

It reminded Ransom of lazy days spent with uncle Neil. Before he married, Neil would let Ransom stay with him during the holidays, enjoying a break from his minutely organized days during school and after school activities, projects and sports. Sometimes they’d talk, Neil offering him advice and pearls of wisdom or just listening sympathetically. Ransom could still hear that warm voice in his head.

Other times they would sit in a comfortable quiet.

After Neil had died, that was one of the things Ransom missed the most. He would sometimes visit Harlan during the holidays and have some similar quiet hours – but it was never the same. Harlan had never been shy about expressing his frustration with Ransom’s lack of focus or trying to correct his behaviour.

So staying with Benoit was nostalgic, nice.

The nightmares grew more frequent after his visit to Fran, as if the reminder had given his brain an excuse to bring it up almost every night. Taking inspiration from Harlan, Ransom would work in the early hours of the morning. Mostly researching physical therapy courses and ways to help Benoit quit his cigar habit.

“I don’t smoke all the time.” Benoit had protested when Ransom had confiscated the one he’d been about to light up.

“The doc said rest, you can’t rest while you’re coughing and these things kill.” Ransom had rejoined unsympathetically.

Benoit had huffed. “They help clear my mind during cases.”

“Well then find something else that does the same – without sending you to an early grave.” Ransom had placed his hands on his hips, stern as any nurse.

When he didn’t feel like arguing with Benoit or pouring over internet pages, Ransom worked out. He’d shipped over his rowing machine from his house – the only thing he’d brought except for clothes and a few other essentials.

Neither he nor Benoit had put an end date to his stay – or even a name to what it was – but Ransom thought to stay until he’d qualified as a physical therapist and become safely employed.

Mostly he tried not to think about it. Benoit was not a pushover – if he wanted Ransom gone, Ransom would be gone.

Not like Marta, who was probably shelling out hundreds of thousands of dollars to his good-for-nothing family. God, he hoped, he prayed that she wasn’t doing that.

...

With Anita’s occasional advice and Benoit’s seemingly encyclopedic knowledge, Ransom decided on a physical therapy course. The main obstacle was money: he’d need bachelor degree credits in medical subjects to qualify for the PT course, which itself was 3 years long. He had all but depleted his savings so he had to get a load of money.

Staying in the same field, however, he could be a physical therapist aide and learn on the job. Aides basically took care of the periphery of physical therapy: helping patients book appointments, transporting them to the rooms, paperwork etc.

The salary was only around $25k a year.

“I’d be poor.” He complained to Benoit, who shrugged.

“Financially, yes.” 

Ransom didn’t reply, staring at the laptop screen a little despondently. He got up but was halted by Benoit speaking again. “You’ve survived without the trappings of wealth long enough that I don’t think you really need them anymore.”

“Oh, do you?” Ransom replied bitterly, irritated by Benoit’s tone.

“I heard about your mother’s favorite dog.” 

Although surprised by the non-sequitur, Ransom didn’t show it, sneer unmoving. 

Benoit stood up, continuing. “I don’t presume to lecture you about your own name, but I did wonder if you knew about the _Theory of Ransom as Atonement_.” 

Ransom frowned, stepping back a little. 

Benoit continued conversationally. “It was a theory in the Early Christian Church. They thought that Adam and Eve had essentially sold humanity to the Devil when they ate the fruit. So God paid Christ’s death as ransom to free us from the Devil’s hold. Of course, not many believe that anymore.” 

Ransom stared for a long moment and Benoit could see the wheels turning. 

Eventually, he shrugged though his voice wavered a little. “What’s your point? I’m not a dog, I’m…deliverance from evil?”

“Many things affect you, whether you want them to or not, but taking control of the meaning of your life is up to you. Choosing how you treat others and how you treat yourself, that’s all you.”

Ransom swallowed and looked away. “What does Hugh mean?” He asked quietly.

“I don’t know.” Benoit stifled a chuckle, shrugging himself. “Does it matter?”

“Yeah, yeah, I get your point.” Ransom huffed. This time, Benoit believed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hugh means ‘bright mind’. As Benoit says though, it doesn’t matter. Did anyone else hear about that guy who named one son ‘Winner’ and the other ‘Loser’? Winner became a drug addict and is in jail, Loser became a police officer. His friends call him ‘Lou’. Go figure.


	3. The End of Pretending

He took a physical therapist aide job. His responsibilities included: cleaning and disinfecting the equipment after the sessions, wheeling the patients to the rooms, doing some clinical tasks like charting patients’ progress during therapeutic exercise. This all involved working closely with the patients and physical therapists and as expected, the arduous nature of the therapy did sometimes grate on him. However, he was so impressed by the determination of the patients as well as the fortitude of the therapists, that he was inspired to continue saving for the undergraduate course.

He had a particular one in mind so had created a fund for that, Anita helping him shop around for the best savings account.

They talked on the phone regularly. She was suffering a lot of frustrating set-backs at work which were becoming more and more likely due to good old-fashioned racism.

“Could be the woman thing.” Ransom had thrown out during one bitching session.

“Thanks, love.” She’d drawled. “That makes me feel so much better.”

Ransom had twisted his lip, unsure if there was anything he could even contribute to such a conversation. “Sorry.” He ventured.

She’d snorted but hadn’t snapped at him again. He’d gone on: “Guess this is what unions are for.”

She’d laughed. “Oh yeah, I’ll start the Asian-American Female Lawyers group.”

“Doesn’t that already exist?” He asked.

“NAPABA.” She’d replied.

“Bless you.”

Anita had chuckled. “The National Asian Pacific American Bar Association. It’s for both genders but eh, close enough.”

“You a member?”

“Yeah, but I hardly keep up with the emails, let alone go to the events. Too busy, you know?”

He really did not but hummed anyway.

“It’s okay,,” she continued, “sometimes I just want to vent. I’m really not expecting solid advice from you.”

“Thank God for that.” He’d half-joked and she’d cackled. As they rang off, the little glow in Ransom’s chest grew. Things were coming together nicely for once.

…

And then one Friday night Alicia turned up. Benoit was cooking so Ransom had answered; on seeing her he almost shut the door again. She looked different, as much from her petulant expression as her new stylish haircut and designer clothes. Her eyes flicked over him, expression morphing slightly, but still mostly arrogant and angry.

“Alicia.” Ransom greeted, body fizzing with adrenaline.

“Ransom.” She answered. “Can I come in?” It was then that Ransom noticed the bags behind her.

“Going on vacation?” He snarked. Something flickered over her face and he realized. Swallowing, he offered quietly. “Come in.”

Once settled in the living room, she told him in short, bitten-off sentences that she’d finally come out to her mother and it had not gone well.

“She kicked you out?”

“No.” Alicia’s lip twisted. “Technically Marta owns the house, even if mama did want me out. I chose to leave. Didn’t really feel like hanging around.”

That was about as much as he needed to know.

“Well, it’s not my house so, even if I wanted you here-”

“What’s this now?” Benoit’s voice floated in from the kitchen. 

Ransom held back a curse. After he’d been updated, Benoit didn’t hesitate to invite Alicia to stay. Ransom bit back his annoyance that she’d essentially invited  _ herself _ and had plenty of money to her name to stay literally  _ anywhere else _ . 

He indulged in a little sulking that first night, pretending not to be further offended when they ignored him pouting in the corner. Deep down, he knew that he’d tricked Alicia into friendship for purely selfish reasons, but he didn’t want to think about it. Insulting people enough so they’d leave him alone was what he was best at.

Benoit left for a case the next morning and extracted promises from both of them not to destroy the house or kill each other before he got back. Feeling like a child again, Ransom agreed sullenly. As she was on vacation from college, Alicia spent most of the day watching TV and messaging friends. He laughed when Phyllis hissed at Alicia and ran out of the room, Alicia’s glare only making him laugh harder.

“Were you always this bitchy and I just never noticed?” She snapped.

“I don’t have to pretend to be interested in your life anymore.” He snarled.

Gasping a little, she hit back. “And I don’t have to pretend to be nice to you because of Marta’s job.”

Despite the insult being equivalent to what he’d lobbed over, Ransom was still a little hurt. Yes,  _ he’d  _ been acting but he’d assumed that Alicia had genuinely liked him, well, his act. He scowled and left the room. When they next bumped into each other, neither brought up their harsh words.

Two weeks went by. Ransom worked and Alicia met up with friends but they couldn’t escape each other in the evenings – arguing over everything from who would cook or wash up, hogging the washing machine or the remote for the television. Benoit dipped in and out, apparently murderers were a lot more active in the summer, who knew? He quickly made a new rule that neither could bitch to him about what the other one had done whilst he’d been away.

“You’re both adults and I am your host, not your father.”

The pair only talked about Marta once. Alicia had come up to Ransom and began.

“She cried for days, you know.”

“I don’t care.” He’d shrugged, not looking at her.

“Liar.” Her eyes had narrowed. “What’s worse is that you won’t admit that you really did care about her, before.”

“Everything I did was for the inheritance.”

“Not everything.”

He had nothing to say to that.

“Anyway, I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive you for what you did to Marta but for lying to me, well, I guess I’ve gotten over it.”

Ransom had frowned, not understanding.

Alicia’d huffed. “I dunno, I feel like you made more of an effort than you had to and lie or not, you did help me with the being gay thing so, whatever. We’re even now.”

“Thank you,” Ransom had replied quietly. Alicia had shuffled on her feet a little and Ransom had offered awkwardly. “Hug?”

She’d snorted. “Not on your life.”

Like two cats sharing the same territory, Ransom and Alicia came to a tentative truce. They would still snap at and annoy each other, but the full-blown fights were behind them. Benoit hoped anyway. He wouldn’t readily admit to being lonely before they’d moved in, but acknowledged to himself that he preferred them there, even when they fought. Their lighter arguments were often amusing and he entertained himself trying to predict who would start the next sniping session and what they’d say to each other.

One day, Ransom came up to Benoit and reluctantly began talking about finding his own apartment. Alicia must have said something to Ransom when Benoit was on a case, as it was unlikely Ransom had begun to feel guilty for mooching all on his own.

“You don’t have to leave.” Benoit had interrupted.

“I have a job-”

“And you’re saving for very expensive degrees, you’ll get there faster if you don’t have to pay rent. Just clean up after yourself, help me weed the garden… no more needed.”

Ransom considered. Although the idea of getting dirt on him seemed to repulse him a little, he dutifully followed Benoit out to the garden and put on a pair of gloves. Pulling weeds was easy and, Benoit had found, satisfying. After about 10 minutes, Ransom agreed with him.

“This is strangely enjoyable. Die!” He shouted, pulling and throwing another weed onto the heap. 

Benoit sat back and watched him for a minute, marveling at the childlike smile and dancing eyes. This was the happiest Benoit had ever seen Ransom look. Benoit’s heart swelled and he had to blink away the burn behind his eyes.  _ You old fool _ . He told himself and got back to work.

…

Seeing Alicia trying to hide her hurt at being at odds with her mother, Ransom called his own. She was surprised but not completely disinterested to talk to him. They managed to catch each other up quite efficiently. Linda enjoyed telling him about Walt’s latest failure and how she’d deigned to bail him out – in exchange for favors of course. Neither of them mentioned Marta or the house. Although not falling over herself to sound supportive, his mother did tentatively congratulate him on his plan.

“Dad wanted you to do something by yourself.” She’d said, sounding a little choked up. Ransom marveled at how genuine her feelings for the old man were even after his passing. He couldn’t imagine mourning his own father’s death for that long.

Still, he would mourn a little. To that end, he reluctantly called his father. Richard was truly miserable, though he made an effort to hide this fact. He was currently living with his latest mistress in a modest house he’d scrimped enough to buy and had a middle-management position. Any normal person would be perfectly happy with his means but Richard was accustomed to the finer things in life and to the status his wife’s money had brought.

Ransom bit back his opinion – his father wasn’t a complete fool; he knew that he was to blame for his situation. Pointing it out seemed a little cruel, even for Ransom.

“You have enough money to go back to college?” Richard asked, following it up immediately with. “Because I can’t support you this time.” Ransom had held back a snort, replying that he was fine.

At least dear old mom had her work: ordering people around and watching figures grow made her happy. It wasn’t surprising. His mother had always ended up on top after all.

…

Eventually, Marta got involved and engineered a meeting between Marlene and Alicia. Ransom never found out anything that was said; he only knew that Alicia was moving back.

He watched her pack, trying to think of the right words. In the end, he gave up and settled for directness.

“You gonna talk to Marta about me?”

Alicia glanced up briefly before going back to arranging her shoes in the suitcase. “What makes you think that I haven’t already?”

He didn’t answer, folding his arms and frowning. She sighed. “She’s my sister. There’s not much I don’t tell her.”

His lips pressed together and she walked up to him. “If she asks, I’ll tell her. But if she doesn’t, I won’t bring it up.”

Unhappy but resigned, Ransom shrugged. Alicia’s expression softened a little and she kissed him on the cheek. Ransom swallowed and watched as she finished packing.

Once she’d moved back, she didn’t mention anything about talking to Marta and he didn’t ask. Although he desperately wanted to know.


	4. Better Than Your Peers

As his work was only four days a week, Ransom’s manager had recommended volunteering to gain more experience and pad out his résumé. Still feeling a little like a mooch when he was home on weekdays, Ransom agreed.

The charity had been active for about fifteen years. Slowly but surely growing so they had an office and a few different facilities in the city. It had been founded by Jane Simmons after her teenage son had been paralyzed in a car accident. Physical therapy had helped him regain some movement but if not for a hefty inheritance from her father, Jane would never have been able to pay for it. She had raised money among her rich friends from her home city to help one of the other patients her son had befriended and things had gone from there.

Now they supported 50 patients a year, offering physical therapy either free or at a reduced price depending on the case.

Ransom volunteered as a Physical Therapy aide at the main facility. The work was the same as at his job, with slightly different systems and management styles to get used to. As it was a charity, the physical therapists offered their free time pro bono and also accepted doing tasks that normally an aide would do. Therefore, Ransom was only one of two aides at the site although it was a big facility.

He was told the other aide’s name at the beginning, but only remembered it began with a ‘D’. She was on her phone whenever not working – and sometimes when working – so he didn’t bother pretending to be interested in her.

The patients were often tired and crabby after their sessions but Ransom simply ignored any barbed comments and kept himself from snapping by remembering his own PT sessions. That was not to say that he was a happy presence in the place. He did his work, would answer patient queries, reported to his boss – everything in his job description. Any more than that was difficult for him.

He quickly cultivated – at both his work and the charity – a reputation for being private in the extreme, completely uninterested (to the point of rudeness) in small talk or community spirit though he was occasionally inclined to drop witty one-liners. At some point he’d stopped shaving and the luscious, if he said so himself, beard added to his gruff demeanor.

Of course he made an effort to appear interested in the patients, but after a while only the oblivious or chronically chatty tried to engage him in conversation.

Benoit noticed that Ransom was snappier after a shift but didn’t take offence, merely weathering any sharp words with quiet amusement before offering a cup of tea. That had become a signal for quiet time so Ransom would calm down – reassured that he wouldn’t need to navigate social niceties.

From time to time, Ransom would complain that he wasn’t cut out for the job, that it was too hard to hold his tongue in the face of idiots and whiners. Gone were the days when he could slip into a charming persona with a guilt-free conscience; it took too much energy to keep it up for long and felt too much like lying anyway. After a complaining session, he would always refuse to contemplate Benoit’s suggestion of therapy: how would he even afford that bullshit?

He did, however, listen to Benoit’s own techniques for keeping his temper.

“You shout at telemarketers pretty angrily.” Ransom pointed out, referring to Benoit’s habit of taking people to task for trying to sell him things over the phone.

“­They prey on the vulnerable.” Benoit had bristled.

Despite chuckling at Benoit, Ransom did try the techniques and found them helpful. They were even more useful when his past came back to haunt him in the unlikeliest of places.

…

Looking back with no small amount of bitterness, Ransom rued not going for lunch five minutes earlier that day.

“Ransom?” A familiar voice asked incredulously. Ransom’s insides were already crunching painfully at the name – everyone at the charity called him Hugo. Even if he hadn’t recognized the voice, it still would have meant trouble.

He turned from where he’d been punching in the security code for the door into the staff area. There, standing next to the charity founder was Octavia Juniper. Octavia, or Vi to her friends, had been annoying even when in the middle of sex, not that he’d been that desperate too many times. He’d genuinely forgotten her existence until that moment. For a split second, he considered pretending she was mistaken, but Hell, they had his full name on file and Jane was not easily fooled.

“Vi!” He replied through a grimace.

She cooed and kissed him on both cheeks. He reciprocated stiffly, trying not to sneeze at her strong perfume. 

She indicated to his beard. “You caveman. What are you doing here?”

Irritation flared in his gut but he breathed through it. Oh, it was  _ on _ . “I’m volunteering. Why? Are you thinking of signing up?”

She brayed. “Oh, I would  _ love _ to, but I simply don’t have the time.”

“Of course.” He nodded in mock-understanding. “You must be the one donating the new AlterG treadmill.”

She opened her mouth to correct him but he steamrolled on.

“I always knew you were genuine, not like Sasha. She always makes such a big show of donating just a few thousand dollars, as if no one knows she spends just as much on wet wipes.”

He took her hand and clasped it between both of his. “Thank you, it will make such a difference to a lot of good people.”

Her indignation at being strong-armed into donating a considerable amount more than she’d planned melted under his gaze and she tittered. “Ransom, it’s really nothing. I just like helping people.”

­“If only everyone was as good as you, Vi.” He held her gaze a beat longer before letting go of her hand.

She tossed her long hair over her shoulder. “It’s good to see you again, Ransom. We’ve missed you at the club – I’d like to catch up some time.”

_ Huh. Not as much as she’ll enjoy telling everyone how low I’ve sunk. _ He thought cynically.

In reply he smiled bashfully. “Well, I’m here every week.”

Despite her answering smile, he knew she would not take him up on the implied offer. He excused himself and ignored the receptionist, going straight through to the break room. He sat down at the cheap table, narrowly avoiding putting his elbow on the sticky part. Head falling into his hands he used the dark to center himself, breathing in deeply. Whatever happened, he would be fine.

Everything would be fine.

Jane and Seymour (her assistant or something), found him there not much later. He was mechanically chewing his sandwich, engaging in a mutual silent lunch with the other PT aide.

Jane glanced at the other aide but Ransom shrugged, it wasn’t like anything would be kept from the gossipers now.

“Miss Juniper donated the remaining amount needed to buy an AlterG treadmill.” Jane began. She looked at him closely. “We’ve been working her for weeks and gotten scraps. Then you talk to her for a few minutes and she increased her donation by almost five times.”

Ransom concentrated on unwrapping more of his sandwich as he replied nonchalantly. “She and Sasha Greywater have had this huge, bitter rivalry for years. They would do anything to one up the other.”

“They’re friends of yours?” Seymour interjected, curiosity bubbling dangerously close to the surface. Whatever Ransom’s face was doing when he looked up made the man pull back a little.

Ransom carried on explaining to Jane. “I used to move in the same circles, but that was a long time ago.”

Jane sat at the table. “Seems to be that it was recent enough to still be useful.”

­“I suppose I could write down what I remember.”

­“We were hoping you could do one better. Join the fundraising department.­”

Ransom looked down at the remains of his sandwich and carefully wrapped it back up, appetite completely gone. “She told you what happened.”

­“She did,” Jane confirmed quietly.

Ransom glanced up, trying to ignore the feeling of Seymour and the aide staring at him. Jane was still and solid, so Ransom focused on her. “I’m not interested in seeing any of them again.”

“I can understand that, but with your help, we could raise a lot of money.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” he countered.

Jane watched him for a long beat before tilting her head. “Think about it.”

His jaw twitched but he only nodded sharply. Jane pulled Seymour away.

When they were gone, the aide asked. “What was that about?”

Ransom got up, threw his lunch in the trash and left to resume his shift.

Benoit surprisingly advised against Jane’s idea. For some reason Ransom assumed the detective would want Ransom to suffer the obnoxious bastards for the greater good.

Benoit eyed him a minute before explaining. “You’ve made such good progress – why jeopardize it now?”

Ransom hummed. “You think mingling with them will turn me back into a raging asshole?”

Benoit raised his palms. “I don’t know anything for sure. I just think you don’t owe the charity more than you’re already doing.” Ransom twisted his lip and didn’t reply.

Anita said much the same but Alicia’s view was different.

“Stick it to those assholes. Show them that you’re better than them.”

Ransom blinked, not sure how her easy admission that was a better person than his old peers made him feel. There was warmth but also an uncomfortable squirming in his guts. He hadn’t even been sure that she would answer his call, as they hadn’t exactly spoken beyond exchanging the odd meme since she’d left. Her support felt odd and it unnerved him a little.

“Thanks, Alicia.” He answered finally.

Used to his new, more taciturn way of speaking, and perhaps hearing his wariness, she answered smilingly. “You’re welcome.”

His next shift he told Jane. “I’ll do it: on a trial basis.”

She just smiled.

…

Ransom’s main focus on the team was securing the attendance of old acquaintances to an upcoming dinner. If he could persuade any of them to donate on top of buying a place at the dinner, all the better. Octavia’s tongue had obviously been wagging hard because Ransom had received a few messages from people he hadn’t seen in years – the more tactless or oblivious ones. Other, prouder ‘friends’ enquired at the charity’s office or stalked his social media accounts.

With more reluctance than he’d expected, he traded scrubs for office wear. He kept the beard, knowing it would add to the delicious, downtrodden image; lowering the defenses of unsuspecting future donors. He did trim it though and, huffing exasperatedly, obliged Alicia’s request for a picture of his ‘new work look’.

The fact that Anita sent him a message of support plus a winky face a few minutes later was a coincidence…right? Why had he introduced those two to each other again? Well, it was too late to un-do it now.

So he went into battle: enduring barely contained sneers, insufferable chortles and tone-deaf comments about his ‘unfortunate situation’.

Now understanding a little of how Fran, Marta and his score of nannies as a child must have felt, his nights were often spent staring at the ceiling.

A spoiled, little rich boy didn’t deserve Benoit’s tea or silent support, so he didn’t often leave his room.

Ransom mostly worked with Seymour and the other two workers in the fundraising department, who were responsible for coordinating donations from other sources (government, companies etc.). Well, ‘working with’ mainly consisted of him ignoring them unless they had a work-related question to ask him or vice versa. The workers weren’t terrible to share space with, just an annoying presence with their chatting and eating at their desks and laughter.

Seymour was annoying too but easily cowed by Ransom’s frown, so Ransom didn’t pay him much attention beyond details relevant to his pitch.

Over many phone calls and house visits and coffee meet-ups, Ransom perfected his sales technique. It was mostly made up of small talk, subtly stroking egos and controlling his temper. When his blood pressure rose too high, he remembered Alicia’s surprise endorsement and conviction. He thought about Benoit’s inexplicable charity and understanding; Anita’s support and blunt advice hiding affection. He had lost his inheritance yes, but he had gained so much more. More than these entitled bastards would ever know.

…

To his great surprise, his mother called him to buy a place at the dinner. He didn’t wonder how she’d found out; though he was puzzled by her seemingly spontaneous decision to show some heart for a change.

“I spoke to  _ him _ .” She mentioned, the tone making it clear who she was referring to. “He made sense, for once.” She sighed. “We do love you Ransom, I hope you know that.”

Ransom’s jaw clenched and he swallowed harshly. “Yeah, sure.”

His mother cleared her throat and the conversation moved on. Once they’d hung up, Ransom thought about his parents as individuals separate from his relationship with them.

When he’d begun his quest to truly become a better person, he’d grown angry and bitter about how they’d treated him as a legacy as opposed to a person. When they’d found out how impossible it was for him to live up to their standards, they’d simply given up; leaving him to his own devices to self-destruct and struggle to find attention and love.

Now, he considered how ill-equipped they’d been themselves. Linda had been forced to mold herself in Harlan’s image to even have a relationship with him. Richard’s parents were just as uninterested in him as he seemed to be in Ransom – Ransom had barely met them so guessed about them from his own father’s glaring insecurities. 

No one had shown them how to be good parents, so could he really be angry at them for messing him up? 

Well, okay, yes, he could. 

A lot. 

Still, he acknowledged the new perspective.

…

In the middle of the whirlwind that was his life, he received a letter from another person he’d half-forgotten, or well, tried to.

_ Dear Ransom, _

_ I’m sorry. Please let me tell you in person. Visiting hours are Mon-Sat, 10-3pm. Please come. _

_ Meg. _

The nightmares still dogged his sleep from time to time, he still smelled fire and ash at random times, he still avoided thinking about it in general. He put down the letter on his desk and went over to the window. 

His life was jam-packed and getting more stressful by the day. Surely adding a reunion with his almost-murderer cousin wouldn’t be good for him. Surely it could wait.  _ Please come.  _ He could almost hear her voice through the words.

Ah, Hell.

…

His cousin had lost weight. Ransom had a vague memory of mocking her for being fat, once upon a time. Whilst she had eventually grown into her baby fat, she’d never become what Ransom would have once called ‘thin’. 

Now, her face was slimmer and her jumpsuit baggy. She’d made an effort to arrange her hair but it hung dull and limp. As he got closer, he could see her eyes shining and hands fluttering where they were perched on the table.

“You came.” She stood and shifted uncertainly. 

He nodded and sat down, pointedly not speaking to or touching her. Brow creasing, she slowly joined him and looked at him timidly. Her voice was weak as she asked how he’d been. Ransom didn’t know how to answer that on a good day, let alone in this strange situation; talking to his cousin who was in jail for killing their grandfather and throwing a Molotov cocktail into the room he’d been in.

“Fine.­” He managed and automatically rejoined. “You?”

Meg swallowed, running a hand through her hair. “The food’s not great but my cellmate is okay, not too scary.” She managed a fleeting smile, though her face was paling a little.

Ransom hadn’t been sure how he’d feel, seeing her again. Her confession had taken everyone by surprise and almost immediately afterwards he’d been consumed with regret and despair because of his breakup with Marta.

The sentencing had been brief as she’d plead guilty. All Ransom had been obligated to do was respond to Joni’s request to give a character witness – evidently against her lawyer’s advice judging by the panicked phone call he’d received from the lawyer an hour later. Needless to say he’d declined, vehemently. Ever since then, he’d just wanted to forget it all.

Now, literally confronting Meg, Ransom’s head was a mess. He was angry of course, for being almost burned alive with Fran, of all people. Also disgusted that Meg was so pathetic that she’d rather kill her own family members than get a job. Ransom felt entitled to ignore the fact that he’d considered the same because he hadn’t actually gone through with it.

Mingling with the anger and disgust was a kind of exhausted sadness. His little cousin, the annoying if sweet girl he could remember as a newborn, was in jail – suffering, scared. She was young and stupid and facing an uncertain future. Ransom had heard that Joni’s sugar daddy had lent out his lawyer for the trial and duration of the sentence but had otherwise cut the pair off. Mostly likely moving on to a younger, less problematic companion.

Although her business was still limping along, Joni would not be able to support Meg’s previous lifestyle. The princess would have to get a job with just her high school qualifications and a criminal record. Maybe she’d get lucky and land a job through a friend – though judging by his own former ‘friends’ reaction after he’d been disinherited, Ransom doubted the chances of that. Idly, he wondered if Marta would be moved to help. He had no idea if her empathy would win against her love for Harlan.

Meg’s nervous cough interrupted his thoughts. “Look, I know I have no right to ask this...” He met her gaze and she faltered. Her eyes began to water. “I’m sorry.” She whispered. “I’m so sorry. I never meant…I didn’t want to hurt you or Fran. I just panicked and wanted to destroy the report and now Fran is in rehab and you hate me…”

Letting out a long, shaky breath she wiped her eyes on her overly-long sleeve. The flames of Ransom’s anger dimmed to a low flicker. She was a stupid girl who’d ruined his painstakingly laid plans and changed the course of his life. He couldn’t ignore the fact that it had all probably been for the best. He hadn’t deserved Marta anyway; she would have discovered his betrayal somewhere down the road.

On the other hand, Harlan had been killed for nothing. God, how he’d taken the old man for granted. How he wished the coot were still here. He would have some pearl of wisdom that would blast away the clouds of doubt, some idea of the right way to walk.

Ransom sighed heavily, remembering Alicia’s partial forgiveness and Fran’s refusal to even face facts. Now here was Meg: once a naive girl, now a young woman, tearing herself to pieces. He couldn’t bear it.

Reaching out, he placed a hand over one of hers and squeezed gently. She hiccupped, eyes wide.

Firmly, he told her. “I forgive you. Don’t beat yourself up about it anymore.”

After a beat, she crumpled, sobbing. He had to blink rapidly to keep her from dissolving from his view. Their hands were clutching each other desperately, holding on.

Later, when driving home, Ransom felt numb. Some part of him was glad he’d visited, glad he’d made peace with that chapter of his life. Exhaustion still gripped him though and he hoped dully that later he would be free from the usual nightmares.

…

The day of the fundraiser was nearing and the anticipation, as well as the stress, was mounting in the office. During a status update meeting with Seymour, the assistant asked.

“What about Marta Cabrera?”

Ransom’s heart spasmed. “What about her?”

“She’s a major player in the scene now and very generous. I have some friends in another charity who received a large donation from her last month. We’d be stupid not to invite her.”

“I already did. She said no.” Ransom snapped. He hadn’t lied so shamelessly in a while. It left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Seymour frowned but didn’t question Ransom’s statement. Eventually, he went back to his desk and Ransom’s breathing eased up a little. Though his insides began curdling. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An AlterG treadmill is between $35 - $75,000 depending on the size (they’re based on NASA treadmills which simulate running in low gravity, so are kinder on the joints and great for rehab).


	5. Neither Marta nor Ransom Are At All Prepared

This time he had no warning: no overheard conversation, no second to decide how to play it. In the charity’s office, Ransom was walking from the copier to his desk, printout in hand, when he looked up and saw Seymour lead Marta into the room. She locked eyes with him and they both froze.

God, he’d forgotten how beautiful she was. Dressed in a sharp business suit, she was still wearing her plain cross and her hair was pulled back in a stylish bun. Her skin was glowing, free from heavy make-up; the best version of herself: honest and breathtaking.

His fingers tightened their grip on the paper in his hands, making a crackling noise. He looked down at the sound, brain helpfully supplying a mental image of what he must look like to her. He’d lost muscle mass since he’d stopped working out as much, had cultivated bags under his eyes and of course, the beard. That morning he’d considered trimming it, but hadn’t had the energy.

Seymour, the little shit, was grinning as he boasted about convincing Marta to come in so she could reconsider attending the dinner. Ransom paid him no mind, waiting with bated breath for Marta to say something, anything.

Marta was not prepared for this. All she’d expected to do that day was tour a charity, be ‘reluctantly convinced’ to donate money and then meet Alicia for coffee. She had not expected the mysterious ‘Hugo’ that Seymour had mentioned on the phone to be her ex.

The ex she still hadn’t gotten over. Her eyes darted over his familiar – and yet unfamiliar – frame; not sure what to make of the changes. He looked tired and nervous and yet, as he met her eyes there was something in his expression… Calm. True calm and certainty.

The cynical part of her which had been questioning if he was running some kind of scam withered and died.

“Hello, Hugo.” She greeted, interrupting whatever Seymour had been saying.

“Marta.” Ransom returned quietly. Memories flooded into her mind’s eye, overlaying the image of him standing before her.

Seymour broke the moment. “Miss Cabrera. Why don’t I take you on the tour now?”

“Seymour.” Another voice cut in. Jane, the founder of the charity, came out of her office. “Could you come and help me with something?” Marta turned and saw the knowing look in the woman’s eye. Poor Seymour’s splutter was drowned out by Jane’s insistence. “Hugo can give her the tour.

Marta recognized a flash of amusement in Ransom’s face as he watched Seymour’s mouth gape open, but then he looked back to Marta and turned serious again. He put down the paper he’d been holding and indicated out to the rest of the center. She followed him out of the office silently; her thoughts racing.

Alicia had told her that she’d stayed with Benoit and that Ransom was also living there. She had also admitted to coming to a truce with Marta’s ex.

“He’s different. For real this time. He asked me not to tell you anything.” Were the only things her sister had said.

Marta had stubbornly refused to push for more information but now wished that she had. Part of her heart ached to see him having a hard time, the other part viciously happy he was suffering just a little. God, what had she become?

They walked around in awkward silence and her nostalgia for the easy afternoons spent together grew.

“You don’t have to do this,” she broke the silence finally, “I was going to donate anyway.”

He looked at her with a slight grimace on his face. “You came in because Seymour begged you to.”

She tilted her head. How had he known that and been surprised by her presence?

He shrugged. “I’ve accidentally taken over this part of his job, with absolutely no grace whatsoever.”

“Ah,” Marta nodded knowingly, her lips twitching a little, “I can’t believe he hasn’t fallen for your charms yet.”

“These days I save that for the patients.” He commented. At her questioning look he explained. “I just volunteer here two days a week. I work as a PT aide the rest of the time.”

Marta didn’t know what to say to that. Over the months following the revelations, she’d worked out that Ransom had acquired his personal trainer job solely as part of his ‘reformation act’ and hadn’t planned on doing it forever; so she wasn’t surprised that he’d dropped it. However, as far as she knew, his current job paid worse. It was true that his expenses were lower now he was living with Benoit, but it didn’t fit with his character, at least, the one she knew.

When she’d recovered enough to start dealing with the estate in earnest, the family lawyer, who had known them all for years, had mused out loud why Ransom hadn’t simply let Marta take the fall and collect his share of the inheritance.

“No risk, no reward.” Marta had answered shortly, feeling queasy. She hadn’t been able to stop turning the question over in her mind though. Sure, Ransom was an arrogant SOB but he wasn’t an idiot, nor a gambler. Maybe part of him had felt something for her? Benoit wouldn’t have taken the man in if he hadn’t seen something salvageable, right?

Marta’s head had been a mess – how much had been real and how much had been an act? Surely only a true psychopath could have fooled her that completely for that long. She’d puzzled over Ransom’s hate-filled words at the end. The look on his face before he’d launched into the tirade. Had she glimpsed regret there?

What possible reason could he have had to do that if he hadn’t meant it? She remembered Harlan’s affectionate exasperation.

“So much of me in that boy.” Harlan had left her a fortune without warning, correctly predicting that she would have protested had she known. He’d done the best thing for her according to his own opinion without consulting her.

What had Ransom said? ‘They’ll never accept the decision…you’ll lose everything’. Maybe it hadn’t just been an attack – but also a warning. In his own stupid way, he’d been trying to do what he thought was best for her.

That was the only explanation that fit. Once she’d worked that out, her anger had flared. How dare he treat her like a child? Yes, she had a kind heart, but she was also a grown woman capable of making her own decisions. Ransom had wrecked their relationship to protect her and probably still believed himself to be in the right.

She mourned the Ransom who had listened to her, seemed to value her opinions: her Hugo.

This man beside her was neither of the previous incarnations; he seemed hollowed a little, beaten down. Realizing that she hadn’t said anything in response, she grasped for something relevant.

“Fran’s having PT right now. She’s doing well.”

Ransom nodded, something dark on his face. “Good. She could use a break.”

Marta blinked. The last she’d known, Fran and Ransom had been mortal enemies – where was this empathy coming from?

He saw her looking. “I went to see her.”

At this, Marta stopped walking. “Wow. How did that go?”

He winced in memory. “Well, she spent all of the time shouting at me or telling me about ‘David the Savior’.”

The bitterness in his voice pressed against her chest. David was a nice man. Marta had shared some nice conversations with him while waiting for Fran to get tests done. He would always correct Fran when she claimed that he’d run in to save her, but Fran never listened.

Suddenly, it struck Marta that no one had acknowledged Ransom for pulling Fran out of a burning building.

“Thank you for saving her life. That was an amazing thing you did.”

Ransom stared at her for a long moment, eyes slightly wide but expression otherwise unreadable, before coughing and looking away.

“So, how are the leeches? Did they bring a case against you?”

“I’m surprised you didn’t already know.”

He shrugged. “Haven’t spoken to any of them since…you know. Just my parents and we like to keep those conversations short.”

Come to think of it, none of the family Marta had spoken to had mentioned Ransom either, beyond muttering unflattering things.

“The lawyer’s keeping them at bay.” She answered.

“And they’re not harassing you?” He asked in a rush, concern pulsing so strongly she could almost taste it.

Her eyes burned and she had to push down the wave of longing. “What would you do if they were?”

He blinked, before averting his gaze, looking somewhere over her shoulder. “Nothing.”

“Good, because I can look after myself.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” The words gushed out before she could stop them. “I know why you made your lovely speech. To protect me from them, by hurting me, making me harder.”

He swallowed and nodded mutely, his eyes now roaming over her face. The knots in her stomach loosened slightly at the confirmation but her blood still boiled. He winced at her expression but didn’t say anything, didn’t ask for forgiveness, or apologize. It was as she suspected, he still believed his actions to be justified.

Suddenly, she couldn’t be there. “I’ll send a check. Tell Seymour thank you.”

He opened his mouth to protest but something on Marta’s face made him change his mind. “Alright.” He answered finally. “Adiós, Marta.”

Unable to speak, Marta nodded sharply and turned on her heel, marching away.

…

Jane later revealed to Ransom that Marta had agreed to donate and go to the dinner as long as she didn’t have to talk to Ransom. Apparently she’d phrased it more delicately but Jane didn’t believe in vagueness. Ransom was both thankful for her candor and hurt by the request.

“She’s probably still angry.” Jane began kindly. Ransom shook his head once and she got the message.

Alicia, unfortunately, did not. Likely as soon as she’d heard about the surprise meeting, she’d messaged Ransom. He was taken aback that she’d asked how he was, having assumed she’d take Marta’s side and ignore him.

_ >I’ll live.  _

He replied, thankful for the emotionlessness of messages.

His shift ended and he drove home, ignoring the buzzing of his phone. He only felt worse as his brain tried to process everything and as he came in to smell something delicious coming from the kitchen, decided not to look at his phone again for the rest of the night.

Benoit was in a good mood, singing away as he cooked, and although he instantly read Ransom’s body language, easily accepted Ransom’s headshake. A great conversationalist and storyteller, Benoit regaled Ransom with the tale of the most tightfisted client he’d ever had and the struggles Benoit had had to undertake to get paid. Ransom didn’t comment but the tension in his upper body loosened as he listened. He set the table as Benoit explained how dear, if devilish, Phyllis had provided the answer.

They ate in a companionable quiet for a while and then Ransom’s phone rang. He cursed and rushed to cancel the call.

“You can take it.” Benoit offered, sharp eyes scanning him. Ransom saw Anita’s picture and sighed, answering it.

“I’m fine.” He snapped.

“Clearly.” She answered automatically before pressing. “Where are you?”

“With Benoit.” Ransom held the phone away from his ear and Benoit called a hello. Ransom replaced the phone and asked sarcastically. “Happy?”

Anita tutted but replied. “For now. You call me soon, okay?”

He sighed. “Okay.”

Her voice hardened to steel. “Soon means soon, sunshine.”

He sighed again. “I will.”

They hung up and there was a beat of silence before Benoit cleared his throat. “I have made Tarte Tatin but maybe we could save it for tomorrow.”

Ransom kept his eye on his unfinished meal and managed a shoulder twitch.

“You choose something to watch,” Benoit continued casually, “I’ll put the kettle on.”

Ransom went unprotestingly to the television and flicked through the channels. He found a gardening program and sat back, gaze distant. Benoit joined him and they watched, sipping their tea.

After some amount of time, Ransom was pulled out of his dark thoughts by Benoit hissing in pain. His grimace coupled with a hand shooting to his shoulder clued Ransom in.

“What happened?” He asked, reaching up and swatting Benoit’s hand away from his shoulder. He carefully felt along the joint.

“Nothing.” Benoit tried to deflect but Ransom frowned and moved closer.

“If you’ve pulled it again…”

“No, I just knocked it against a cabinet when I was cooking.”

Slipping into aide mode, Ransom got Benoit’s shirt off and assessed the bruise. It looked painful but not in need of treatment.

“Happy?” Benoit asked. Ransom huffed and nodded. He watched as Benoit put his shirt back on then found himself telling him about seeing Marta and her request.

“How do you feel about that?” Benoit asked gently.

Ransom barked a sharp laugh. “I have no fucking idea.” He had to look away from the detective’s piercing eyes.

“Well,” Benoit began, “at the risk of leaving myself open to Fate’s ridicule, I’d wager that this business between you and Marta isn’t over. Some day you will have the chance to resolve it – one way or another.”

Too tired to be amused or annoyed by Benoit’s poetic turn of phrase, Ransom just leant his head against the back of the couch. They sat there long into the night.

…

A few days later, Ransom’s head was still spinning with all the memories he’d been trying to supress. Her warm voice down the phone, the curve of her cheek as she bit back a smile, how her eyes danced and loose strands of hair waved in the wind, all played over and over as he tried to go about his day.

For once, his mother’s call brought good news. Great news in fact.

“I’ll give you the money for your studies.”

Ransom almost choked on the coffee he’d been drinking. Spluttering, he barely heard her laugh.

“Don’t sound so shocked.” She tutted.

With difficulty, he recovered and asked. “Why?” 

His mother sighed. “Dad preached starting from zero but he did give me advice and support over the years.” She hesitated and Ransom’s breath caught - she was reaching out to him.

“I realized that I haven’t been very supportive of your plans. So if it’s really what you want to do then just take the money.”

Blinking back tears, Ransom croaked. “Thanks, mom.” 

“And call me more often; it’ll give me a break from listening to Joni bursting into hysterics every five minutes.” Linda snarked and then made Ransom amused and impressed by turns as she told him about suffering through Joni’s monthly visits. 

He hadn’t had any idea that his mother was allowing her sister-in-law to bore and annoy her with her troubles. It made him wonder if his mother was softening in her old age. Hell, maybe she was just lonely after Richard had left.

Either way, he was happy for her.


	6. In Which Marta's Boyfriend Is Actually Good For Something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mention of child death and grooming [it's a story about an old case, not in current events].

Now he had officially signed up for the next undergrad course, Ransom had a lot more energy. The charity dinner was two weeks away and he couldn’t wait to be done with it all. Things were looking up. He still talked to Alicia occasionally but neither of them mentioned Marta until one evening after work, Ransom was getting out of his car in Benoit’s driveway and saw some messages from Alicia.

_ >I should probs tell you now Marta’s seeing someone. _

_ >I didn’t want to say before cos I didn’t think it would come up _

_ >He’s a noob and annoying. So… _

_ >Hugo? _

_ >You gonna say something? _

Fuck.

Ransom pushed down his sudden anger and typed out ‘Fine’, before going inside. That night he couldn’t sleep, memories crowding his head and making his heart clench. Giving it up for a bad job, he went into the living room.

Phyllis found him, meowing and purring. She was more energetic at night but not by much so settled beside him. Benoit joined them an hour later.

“You never told me what your nightmares are about.” Ransom commented as Benoit collapsed onto the couch, without tea for once.

“You never asked.­” Benoit grunted.

Ransom tilted his head in a ‘touché’ motion. Turning his upper body as much as possible with Phyllis in his lap, Ransom asked quietly. “What are your nightmares about?”

Benoit sighed and told a sad story about a case from almost a decade before, back when Benoit had still held onto some idealism.

A seven-year old boy had been found dead outside his bedroom window. His mother had insisted that he couldn’t possibly have jumped, that he’d been a happy and well-behaved little boy. Despite the police investigation concluding the trajectory could only have been from a jump, Benoit had been intrigued both by the mother’s conviction and the reaction of the other family members. There was a secret just beneath the surface.

After investigating, he’d uncovered that the boy was being groomed by his uncle. The evidence he’d uncovered – photos and stained clothing – the shamed confession of the uncle and members who’d known or suspected and done nothing, the disbelief and sheer despair of the mother, trying to come to terms with what her brother had done to her son; all those things stayed with the detective.

“I’ve investigated worse people, seen worse things, but that one for some reason…it never even fades from my mind’s eye.”

“Shit.” Ransom spoke for the first time since Benoit had started the story.

Benoit snorted.

Glancing over, Ransom cleared his throat. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that.” 

Benoit stroked Phyllis’ head a few times and she meeped, twisting a little on Ransom’s lap.

“You saved me,” Ransom murmured after a while. He took in a deep breath and looked Benoit in the eye. “I don’t think I really would have done it that day. The day after…well, you know.”

Benoit shifted but let Ransom go on. “I definitely had time; I was really waiting for someone to find me but if you hadn’t been there…I don’t know what would have happened.”

He swallowed and stared down at Phyllis. She looked back up at him and meowed plaintively. Ransom took over stroking her.

“Since then have you felt…?” Benoit asked.

“No.” Ransom answered firmly. ­“Nothing close.” He glanced up and found his chest felt lighter at the relief on Benoit’s face. “What about you?” He asked Benoit suddenly. ­“I don’t have to worry about you, do I?”

“No, Hugo,” Benoit smiled tiredly, “I’m just fine.”

…

Later, Alicia claimed it had been an honest mix up and coupled with her vehement insistence that Ransom and Marta were done for good, Ransom was inclined to believe her. He was still pissed though.

Alicia greeted him at the door of the restaurant, her face a grimace and her eyes wide.

He froze and asked. “What?”

She waved her hands a little and hissed. “I’m so sorry! I got my dates wrong. You have to leave!”

Still confused, he let her grab his arm and turn him around, but they were both pulled up short as they saw who’d come in.

“Marta.” Ransom blurted.

“Hugo.” She breathed back before her eyebrows furrowed and she turned to her sister. “Alicia…”

Chuckling a little awkwardly, Alicia exclaimed. “Jeff!”

Ransom only then pulled his gaze away from Marta to examine the man she was with. He wasn’t unattractive, with well-proportioned features and a trim body. He was taller than Marta, Hell, even a little taller than Ransom! Though after a quick analysis, Ransom was sure he could take the man in a fight if it came to it.

Jeff exactly resembled the type of boyfriend mothers approved of. Ransom hated him instantly.

“Alicia.” Jeff greeted, with a smile dancing on his lips even as he glanced at Marta questioningly.

Ransom had the sudden urge to inform him of his and Marta’s history but her panicked expression stopped him.

“…and Hugo, was it?” Jeff asked Ransom. The question hung in place, suspended on a knife edge. Ransom glanced at Marta, taking in the agonized line of her lips, before turning to Alicia, mouth opening to spin something about this being a chance encounter with an old work colleague.

“He’s a friend.­” Alicia near-shouted, completely ruining Ransom’s plan. Ransom’s eyes widened meaningfully but she only looked back a little helplessly.

“Jeff.” The man himself offered a hand. Ransom shook it automatically, suppressing his irritation at the firm grip and dry palms.

“Hugo.” Ransom confirmed to avoid confusion, though he didn’t really want this man to call him anything. “I’m afraid there’s been a mix-up. Alicia wines and dines all her friends and family at the same restaurant apparently, just on different days.”

Laughing a little loudly, Alicia held up her hands. “Guilty.”

Marta let out a little, forced chuckle and Jeff nodded in understanding.

“Well, you don’t have to leave on our account.” He looked down at Marta, oblivious to her distress. “The more, the merrier, right?­”

Marta swallowed and made a vague gesture with her head, which Jeff seemed to take as agreement.

Ransom sighed inwardly; it was going to be a long night.

Alicia’s girlfriend, when Ransom finally met her, was laid back and bohemian. Sasha was an artist who mostly made a living through selling pieces online or taking requests for fan art. She was so unapologetic about this, it made Ransom smirk a little at Jeff’s visible confusion. 

Her dark eyes danced as she gathered the situation from Alicia’s facial expressions. Ransom forgave her mirth, however, because she was such an engaging and passionate conversationalist, hands waving and braids swinging as she teased and challenged them all into friendly debates.

By the time the mains arrived, Ransom had almost forgotten he was essentially having dinner with his ex and her new boyfriend. Almost, because every so often the light would catch on Marta’s eye or her cross; or her laugh would tickle his ear and he’d be hit by a wave of nostalgia.

It made him feel a little better when he noticed her eyes lingering on his face. Was she remembering and longing too? Did he  _ want _ her to? Ransom let the others take the lead with the conversation, mostly staying quiet so he could turn the question over in his head.

He could see what Alicia meant about Jeff. He was perfectly nice and considerate; he had a well-paying job but didn’t seem too snobbish or addicted to hedge funds or whatever it was he did. He listened attentively to Marta and was eager to hype her latest charitable acts to the group. However, he didn’t seem to have any interests of his own beyond golf. He also made no attempts at humor and also took a moment to laugh at other’s jokes. Jeff was the sort of man you’d imagine with Marta if you didn’t actually know her. How she didn’t fall asleep after so long in a relationship with the bore, Ransom didn’t know.

“So, Hugo, what do you do?” Jeff asked, politely interested.

­“I’m training to be a physical therapist.”

“Cool!” Sasha exclaimed. “How do you do that? Do you need to go to med school first?”

Glad for an excuse not to look at Jeff, Ransom explained briefly.

“Why PT?” Jeff asked, a little more pointedly. Ransom assessed the other man’s face, seeing cogs turning; he was probably asking himself how the sisters knew this apparently random guy and if he was a threat. It was probably a little wrong that this gave Ransom’s ego a boost. Ransom didn’t really want to get into his soul searching but figured a hint of the truth would shut down any further questions.

“I was in an accident a few years ago and needed rehab to get full mobility back in my left arm.” He felt Marta’s eyes on him but forced himself not to look.

“I didn’t know that,” Alicia commented. She looked to her sister. “Why didn’t I know that?­”­

Ransom risked a quick glance and saw Marta’s pained expression.

“It was before you knew him.” She explained shortly.

Jeff looked between all of them. ­“Oh, you’re  _ Marta’s _ friend?” He asked Ransom, unable to keep concern from his voice.

So, not a complete wet drip, Ransom thought. Unsure how much Marta had told him, Ransom replied honestly.

“Marta used to work for my grandfather. We became friends, mostly by Marta telling me what an asshole I am.”

Sasha snorted and Alicia laughed a little too loudly as Marta’s face flicked through a couple of emotions. Jeff did not look reassured in the slightest.

Ransom didn’t know what else to say though and Marta’s shoulders were starting to climb up to her ears.

“So what is it you do again, Marta?” Sasha skillfully picked up the conversation and everyone relaxed a little as they discussed her old job and new responsibilities.

“I’ve never met anyone who could handle such a life changing event like that.” Jeff praised warmly.

If Ransom hadn’t agreed wholeheartedly with the sentiment, he would have thrown up a little in his mouth. Jeff leaned his shoulder against Marta’s and she smiled up at him. Ransom took a long sip of wine and wished it was something stronger. Alicia caught his eye and he felt a little vindicated at her guilty expression.

They made it to desert without any incidents and Ransom quickly excused himself.

“Hugo­­!”

He turned, surprised as Marta hurried out of the door into the street. He didn’t say anything, just watching as she caught up with him. She came to a stop a foot away, as if remembering at the last second not to get too close.

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way, telling Jane I didn’t want to see you.” She explained.

He swallowed. “Why wouldn’t you?”

She shuffled uncomfortably. “It hurt to see you but I don’t hate you.”

Thorned vines twisting and squeezing his heart, Ransom cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did. I know that’s not who you are but you don’t have to worry about my feelings anymore.”

“You’re Alicia’s friend and Benoit’s.”

The vines were now freezing.

“I should leave.” He said numbly. “So you can be free.”

“No­!” She burst out, hand shooting to his wrist as if thinking he’d start running. “You will always be part of my life, even if you’re not physically here. Don’t you feel the same? A little bit?”

Ransom did. He knew exactly what it meant to have someone’s echo tattooed on your heart.

He looked down to where her fingers were curled around his wrist. “You should forget.­”

“You should stop trying to tell me what to do.” Marta countered smoothly, though concern still shimmered in her eyes. “And you should stop being so hard on yourself. No one likes a pity party.”

He let out a breath, amusement at her gentle teasing warring with the lingering regret.

She pressed a little closer. “I have good memories too.”

Finally, slowly, she let go and his breathing eased.

Struggling to process it all, he just said. “Okay. Guess I’ll see you around then.”

She nodded and turned, slipping inside without looking back.

…

Against his better judgement, Ransom had agreed to go to a dinner party his mother was hosting. It was ostensibly to cheer up Joni but Ransom suspected the real purpose was to foist the needy woman onto Walt and Donna – who were at least still together.

Linda had brought up her donation to Ransom when telling him about it but he hadn’t cared about any guilt or sense of obligation she was trying to use. He didn’t analyze his reason for agreeing too closely – beyond recognizing that it had been a while since he’d seen her in person. And that he wouldn’t let Walt’s presence intimidate him.

The family was mostly the same as he remembered: Walt bitter and struggling not to show he was struggling, Donna, fragile; Joni subdued until she noticed someone watching and turned on her drippy New Age crap sales pitch. Jacob, still an angry neo-Nazi, except now he was in college and had slightly longer hair.

He’d also become braver. “Were you really going to marry her?”

Ransom turned from where he’d been leaning on the balcony, irritated to be disturbed from his break from the family.

He bit back his defensive response and asked curiously. “Why do you want to know?”

Jacob shrugged but his interest was too strong to hide. He shifted on his feet and lowered his voice. “I heard ah, I heard that they’re really hot-blooded, like wild, in ah, you know...”

Ransom frowned before his brow cleared in understanding. He rolled his eyes to cover the roiling in his gut. “Don’t you have any pissant friends to talk about this with?”

Nose wrinkling, Jacob had the gall to sneer. “What? You were actually in love with her? She  _ stole  _ what was  _ ours _ .”

Uninterested in a futile argument, Ransom shook his head. “You keep telling yourself that.”

Jacob muttered. “You used to be cool.”

Ransom blinked. He’d been aware that Jacob had admired his rebelliousness but it hadn’t struck him what that really meant. His little cousin had looked up to him for all the wrong reasons but…

Ransom sighed. “I haven’t been cool a day in my life. Don’t be cool, be smart. And FYI, dismissing everyone who isn’t like you is the dumbest thing you can do. You’ll lose your fortune to every Latina you meet.”

Jacob’s eyes narrowed but he didn’t retort, expression going distant. Ransom took in a deep breath and went back inside.

He left as soon as etiquette would allow, cheerfully ignoring his mother’s long suffering expression as she ‘listened’ to Joni whining about something. He’d fulfilled his filial duties and wasn’t that a strangely pleasant feeling?

…

The charity dinner finally arrived and, assured he’d be kept on ‘backroom duties’, Ransom was convinced to shimmy into a suit and attend. So when he arrived and Seymour snapped at him that someone had bailed and Ransom needed to help greet guests, Ransom almost turned around and left.

He really was not prepared for a conveyor belt of sneering acquaintances. Seymour gave him puppy dog eyes – Ransom hadn’t been aware the man was capable, but he supposed desperate times...

Ransom gave in. At least he could justifiably leave before the end.

By the time Marta and Jeff turned up, Ransom was drawn tighter than a bowstring. He saw them first and enjoyed a second of Marta all done up before she spotted him.

Her neutral expression twisted and her boyfriend’s face also morphed. Ransom surmised that Marta had told him everything. He wasn’t surprised – even lies of omission weighed heavily on her.

Jeff was definitely threatened. Ransom fought to keep the bubble of vicious joy he felt off his face.

He approached and watched Jeff mumble something that made Marta flinch. Well, at least Ransom didn’t have to act nice.

“Miss Cabrera and guest?” He asked shortly.

“Thought we wouldn’t have to deal with you.” Jeff cut across whatever Marta had been about to say.

Controlling his natural reaction using one of Benoit’s techniques, Ransom cocked his head and quipped. “Marcy’s sick – ain’t that sad? Your table is this way.”

They followed him without comment and he gave them the spiel as quickly as possible. Marta thanked him meekly. Teeth grinding even harder together, Ransom managed a stiff nod before stalking away. 

The room was big enough and Ransom was called to do enough tedious tasks that he successfully avoided Marta’s table. The work let up as the dinner was being served and Ransom was about to make his way over to Jane to tell her he was leaving, but a glance over to Marta stopped him.

He didn’t want to examine why part of him wanted to stay, so he just stuck to hovering in slowly decaying circles until Jeff caught his eye and glared. The next time Ransom risked a glance over, they were gone and his heart fell.

Lady Luck must have been smiling on him though, because as he ducked into the corridor leading to the cloakroom he heard Marta’s voice. She sounded irritated – a rare tone for her.

Ransom froze and briefly considered ducking back out before Jeff’s snappish tone pulled him closer. The pair were in a side room no doubt filled with boxes and as he crept closer to the ajar door, began to catch words.

“It’ll only be for a month or two,” Marta was saying, “and I really-”

“It’s not safe in those places, Marta.” Jeff interrupted. ­“What? You’re going to bring a bodyguard to hack your way through the jungle?”

“I would be going to cities, which are no more dangerous than New York. You’d trust me to go there without a security team, wouldn’t you?”

“Not if you think that Africa is as safe as here.” He scoffed.

Ransom bristled, itching to go and rearrange Jeff’s ideas and face for him.

Marta’s comeback stayed his ire though. “I appreciate your concern,” Ransom was impressed that she didn’t immediately puke, “but this opportunity was presented to me and ultimately, it’s my decision if I go or not.”

A beat of silence and then Jeff huffed. “Of course. I’m just worried.” He did sound contrite. ­“Sorry I snapped.”

“It’s alright.” Marta forgave him and Ransom swallowed down his opinion, creeping away.

He made his excuses to Jane and left, mind turning the exchange over and over in his head as he drove away.

What was Jeff’s problem? Mata was kind-hearted yes, but also a grown woman. If she’d survived dealing with the Thrombeys, she could take on any challenge – or at least judge her limits. Who did this guy think he was? Telling her what she could or couldn’t handle? What a condescending….oh. Oh!

Ransom pulled over and stared sightlessly through the windshield. He gulped against the sudden lump in his throat. That’s what  _ Ransom _ had done. Decided Marta couldn’t forgive him without leaving herself vulnerable to the rest of the vultures. He’d judged her capabilities for her. He hadn’t trusted her judgement.

Closing his eyes, he turned off the ignition and gripped the steering wheel with both hands. Idiot! Hypocritical asshole!

Just refraining from hitting his head against the wheel he breathed through the wave of self-recriminations. Finally, his mind released him enough to sniff and resume driving.

The storm left one clear thought: he owed Marta the mother of all apologies.

…

Ransom’s resolve to call Marta wavered for a week. He would psyche himself up to dial and then his brain would supply any number of reasons that it was a bad idea. She was probably busy; he didn’t have long before having to leave for work, it was too late to call; what if Jeff was there?

Finally, eight days after his revelation, Ransom made the call in the early evening. Four rings. Then:

“Hugo?”

“Hi, Marta. I hope, uh, this isn’t a bad time.­”

“Oh, um, actually…I am in the middle of something.” She sounded like she had a cold; her tone that made it through the blocked nose was distracted.

“Are you alright?”

There was the harrumphing of blowing a nose. 

“I…” She sighed. “Not really.”

Ransom’s heart clenched in his chest but before he could speak she went on.

“Can we talk tomorrow?”

“Of course, I can come round.”

“I’d like that.” She replied, sounding a little less ill.

“Should I bring anything?”

“Just you.”

He gulped. “Ok, see you around 6:30.”

They rang off and Ransom swallowed down the worry clawing up his throat. His sleep was restless as his brain went through a dozen terrible scenarios. Imagining comforting her did the trick and morning came soon enough.

He felt jittery at work and even less talkative than normal. Luckily he was only working with long term patients so they were well aware of his gruffness. After work he quickly changed out of his scrubs and raced over to Harlan’s- Marta’s house.

It felt strange to be back. Memories crowded in his head and he had to practice some mindfulness techniques to bring himself back into the moment. There was a new camera above the closed front gates with an intercom system. Made sense, he reasoned, before pressing the doorbell button.

“State your business.” Came a distinctly male voice. The sound quality was a little fuzzy but it definitely wasn’t Jeff.

“Uh, I’m here to see Marta.­”

“Name?” The voice demanded.

“It’s okay, Nelson!” Marta interrupted. Warmth flooded through Ransom to hear it. “I know him. Ransom, come to the study.”

There was a loud buzzing and the gates opened. As he drove up he idly wondered what the family thought about the upped security. Then reasoned that they either hadn’t been back or they had been turned away. God, he hoped Marta’s surly bodyguard had kept them away.

Marta looked as put together as normal when he reached the study. Maybe a little tired, but her head was still lifted high. A large man was standing to her right, with his big arms crossed over his barrel-chest. He was dark-skinned with a buzz cut and sharp eyes. Ex-military?

Marta glanced up at her sentinel, a sliver of amusement in her voice as she asked. “Satisfied?”

Nelson huffed. He unfolded and approached Ransom, revealing a slight limp in his gait. It didn’t make him any less intimidating. Ransom forced his shoulders to ease back down from where they’d tensed. Marta wouldn’t allow the man to attack him. Right?

Nelson paused once he drew level with Ransom and the visitor couldn’t help but gulp as those intense eyes bore into him. After one final look over to Marta, the security guard left. Ransom let out a long breath.

He pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “Lovely guy.”

Marta smirked a little. “He’s good at his job.”

Ransom moved further into the room, taking in all the details – it looked mostly the same, even the knife wheel was still there.

“Thought you’d have got rid of that.” He nodded to it.

Marta glanced at it before shrugging. “I kind of like it.”

Ransom hummed and came to a stop in front of the desk.

Marta shifted a little in her seat, awkwardly pointing to the chair on the other side of the desk. “Please.”

Ransom took in a deep breath. “I…before we start, I have something to say.”

Marta’s eyes widened and her hands fluttered onto the desk. Her head nodded slightly.

“I’m sorry for how I ended things.” Ransom began, voice just a little unsteady as he focused his gaze on her long fingers. “I was wrong to try to decide for you. My fear that I wasn’t good enough for you, it wasn’t an excuse to…be a dick.”

He finally looked up at her face and was jolted by the tears in her eyes. He opened his mouth, not knowing what he was going to say but she held up a hand and shook her head.

“No, it’s not…” She sniffed and wiped her eyes. “Jeff and I broke up last night.”

“Oh.” He replied helplessly. “Do you want a hug?”

She didn’t hesitate to nod and he hurried around the desk, bringing her head to his stomach. She went easily, though didn’t break down, just hanging on tightly.

“I’m so sorry.” He said sincerely, only upset at her sadness and not at all regretful that the idiot was gone.

“It’s stupid.” She muttered. “We weren’t even dating that long.”

He cupped the back of her head and tutted. “A breakup’s a breakup.”

Her grip around him strengthened and he closed his eyes.

“I’m glad you’re here.” She whispered and he thought he would explode with light.

“Nowhere else I’d rather be.” 


	7. Like Going Back In Time, Except Not

From that hug, it was almost like going back in time. Ransom and Marta talked on the phone a few times a week, getting to know each other’s updated selves.

It was hard for Ransom not to fall into old habits – mostly tailoring his answers to what he thought Marta wanted to hear. Now aware of that tendency, she called him out, insisting he be fully honest with her; which led to her discovering that Ransom was not at all interested in half the things he’d pretended to be.

Also, he found himself dispensing mini-apologies each time they were both reminded of the scale of his previous deceit. She wouldn’t reassure him that ‘it was okay’, only acknowledging them.

They did have another long conversation about  _ it _ ; with Ransom explaining how his intentions had changed as he’d gotten to know her better and Marta talking about how deeply she’d questioned what she knew about him and even other people in her life. It had been excruciating but eased the way for more, open conversations that comforted them both.

Ransom told her about how exhausting he found working and volunteering; how he wished people would leave him alone, how the expectations in social interactions felt like iron bars, caging him in. Without his previous coping mechanism of pushing others away via rudeness or manipulating them in short bursts, he felt like a moody weirdo.

In turn, Marta told him about how much she appreciated his honesty, how she struggled to adapt to life managing a large inheritance and navigate social situations without the ability to lie.

“Dealing with my family must be torture.” He empathized.

He’d said it before, and had meant it, but this time it felt more meaningful because he’d shown  _ his  _ real vulnerabilities too.

Though their history did lead to some awkward exchanges overall their conversations fell into a comfortable pattern. There were more silences as they both felt less pressure to keep the conversation going. Just knowing the other was on the other end of the phone was reassuring.

Their friends and family had varied reactions. Marlene was reportedly worried – according to a supportive Alicia – though Marta didn’t let her mother’s warnings of unchanging leopard spots deter her. Ransom’s parents didn’t mention anything though Ransom doubted they had any idea he was friendly with Marta again.

Benoit, on the other hand, was happy for them.

“Not that I would speak for either of you, but I dare say it’ll be good for you both.­” He beamed.

Ransom did  _ not  _ get a little choked up at the ringing endorsement. No way.

Once they moved on to meeting up in person, however, another player came onto the field.

Fran was now on crutches and Marta had of course offered her a room on the ground floor to recover. The burns had healed all they would on their own but there were still surgical measures they could take. Currently, she was going through PT before the reevaluation. It was part of the reason Marta had accepted Seymour’s invitation to see the charity.

The first time Ransom went back to the house to see Marta, he had run into Fran in the corridor to the kitchen. She had near-snarled at him and his hackles raised in response. Before he could react further, however, he remembered what Marta had told him and took in Fran’s death grip on her crutches. If he could let his patient’s bad tempers roll off his back, he could give Fran a free pass.

With difficulty, he stood back to let her go past him to the main house. Releasing a long breath, he shook out his shoulders and continued on to the kitchen.

Despite Marta trying to retain as normal a life as possible, she still couldn’t walk around the town without gossiping townsfolk gawking at her, or worse, trying to mine her for dark, juicy secrets.

Once he’d learned this, Ransom had taken to stopping there on his way over to the house to pick up coffee from the place Marta liked. Although people knew his face, not many recognized him; his beard and new, plainer clothes worked wonders as a disguise.

So he was holding two coffee cups when he entered the kitchen. Marta was sitting at the table, talking to her mother. Ransom swallowed. He hadn’t seen Marlene since picking Marta up for the wake.

Both women turned to look at him and an awkward silence descended.

“Hugo.” Marta greeted warmly, throwing a stern look at her mother, who rolled her eyes and went back to her chopping board.

Ransom handed Marta her coffee.

“Marlene, do you want a coffee?­” He offered.

She waved a dismissive hand and muttered something in Spanish. Marta shook her head at Ransom’s questioning glance. She rose from her chair, suggesting they go out to the terrace when her cell rang.

“ _ Que no, Marta, es domingo. _ *” Marlene protested but Marta huffed as she saw the caller ID and accepted it.

“Hi, Kerry, one sec.­” She excused herself and ducked out of the room.

Marlene tutted and returned once again to her cooking. Ransom hesitated. He deeply wanted to escape the ice cold kitchen but, on the other hand, if he had the opportunity to smooth things over…

“ _ ¿Necesita usted ayuda? _ ” He asked.

She didn’t reply, just chopped with more force. The silence stretched so long he actually turned to leave. Marlene muttered something inaudible.

“Huh?”

She put down the knife and turned, arms flying up. “ _ ¡La engañaste! _ ”

He swallowed; he was really in it now. “ _ No entiendo _ .”

“ _ Mi Alicia. ¡Me quitaste a mi pequeña! _ ”

“Alicia? I didn’t…uh,  _ no hice nada a Alicia _ .”

“ _ ¡Metrosexual cabeza hueca! Era buena chica, normal _ …” 

Ah, he got the gist…the awkwardness ratcheted up. This really wasn’t any of his business as an outsider to the family. Cursing his past self for not ducking out when he could have, he held his hands up, palms out. What would he even say in English?

“ _ Marlene, lo siento por… causando problemas a tu familia. No tuve la intención de _ …” He fought to find the right word, giving Marlene the opportunity to continue ripping into him without any remorse or care he couldn’t understand her.

“ _ Mama _ !” Marta reappeared, seemingly glowing in the late morning sun. Marlene frowned, spitting out one last insult before storming out.

“Come on.” Marta led him to the table and chairs on the terrace. He let the quiet sit, watching her compose herself. She rewarded him. “I’m sorry about her.”

“I’m sure I deserve worse.” He tried to joke. Her annoyed glance surprised him. More sincerely, he added. “I barely understood any of it.”

Her eyes softened and she sighed heavily. “I thought I could reconcile them and they did say they still loved and respected each other but…Mama still can’t accept Alicia as she is.” She smiled ruefully. “I didn’t know she’d redirected her anger at you.”

Ransom opened his mouth to respond but hesitated. Before, he had used self-deprecating humor to woo her, to emulate opening up without actually doing it. Instead, he cleared his throat and offered. “A few months ago my mom told me she loved me for the first time in…I can’t remember. I’m sure Marlene will come around.”

Marta’s brows drew in and she asked him about his relationship with almost everyone in his life. It wasn’t pleasant but her steady presence acted like a balm to the old hurts. All through it, a warm joy nestled over his heart – sustained by the knowledge that he had another chance at keeping that support forever.

…

The next two years continued more or less the same. Ransom studied his biology course in order to get the credits for a physical therapy course and Marta travelled to different foundations in and out of the States to spread her goodwill.

They still talked on the phone whenever they could, giving each other moral support and Ransom fighting his urge to fly out and run to her side.

Nelson had, in the end, convinced Marta to take him with her when she travelled and everyone was happy with the arrangement. Ransom just had to rewire his ‘god complex’- according to anyone he confided his irrational worries to.

“She’s a grown woman with a bodyguard. Stop whining.” Anita had helpfully told him.

“It’s natural to worry.” Benoit had reassured him, more kindly. “Besides, you haven’t really stopped. Even when you were estranged, you were still preoccupied with the thought of her being scammed.”

Ransom had bitten back a denial of that, knowing that Benoit had a point.

During Marta’s absence, Ransom didn’t go back to the house, understandably, but at close to the second year mark, discovered that Alicia hadn’t either. He called her one night and asked about it.

The shrug in her voice was unmistakable as she answered. “I’m too busy to drive down.” 

The selfish urge to push her to work on her relationship with her mother flashed through his mind -maybe Marlene would relent if she knew he had worked to reconcile them.

“You’re not scared to go there without Marta, are you?”

“No!” Alicia bit back reflexively. “What, are you scared?”

“Of course I am. Your mom is a terrifying lady.”

“­She’s not so bad.”

It was true that Marlene had stopped shouting at Ransom every time she saw him and he was learning a lot of Spanish from her…mainly because she refused to speak English to or around him, but still. Her attitude had morphed from antagonistic to tolerant and everyone was currently satisfied with the new normal.

“So…” He prompted.

Accepting the challenge, Alicia countered with mischief in her voice. “I’ll go if you come with me.” 

­“No. My days of making nice are over. Do you want me to be insincere?”

“How can you ever expect mom to stop giving Marta grief unless she gets used to you again?”

Ransom’s stomach bottomed out. “Oh, is she still doing that?”

­Alicia ‘ummed’ awkwardly. “Well, not as much anymore. Anyway, Marta can be as stubborn as a mule when she wants.”

“I’d be interrupt-”

“But I invited you!” Alicia insisted, clearly warming to the idea. “It’s not dishonest if you’re there by invitation. You don’t have to act to be pleased to be there: I never do.”

“Maybe we should run this by Marta.”

“What is she, our mom? You pretended to like me to get close to her once, are you my friend for me or for her?”

It was rare for Alicia to bring up his deception like that; she liked to save it for special occasions lest the reminders begin to diminish their effectiveness. He still felt guilty about it all and despite Marta chastising Alicia for doing it, Ransom would always give in.

He sighed. “You’ll owe me one.”

“Oh,  _ acere _ , I would love to gate crash one of your parent’s fancy cocktail parties, you just say the word.”

Damn Alicia, she also knew how to soothe any burns she gave him – hearing  _ acere _ always made him perk up.

“Fine!” He huffed. “And I did, I do like you, genuinely.”

There was a pause and then a cough. “Yeah, well, jury’s still out on you.”

So Ransom found himself over for Sunday lunch at Marta’s mansion – without Marta. The woman herself had supported the plan, even as she sounded worried from thousands of miles away.

Marlene had baulked when she’d seen Ransom, but the appearance of Alicia tempered her reaction and the two ducked away to have a hushed, quick-fire conversation.

Ransom had hovered in the foyer for a moment before a door opened and Saviour David walked out. Marta’s voice sounded in Ransom’s head, scolding him for the sarcastic moniker, so he forced a smile.

“Hugo!” David held out his hand and shook Ransom’s firmly but with warmth.

“David.” Ransom greeted shortly, glad that the man never took offence at his abruptness.

The man was so…plain, straightforward; he was almost charming, but didn’t have enough personality to pull it off. Ransom didn’t hate him at least. They only interacted a few times a year: Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving, the sorts of events Marta invited everyone she cared about to. She didn’t seem to love the man or anything but Fran and David had been going steady since the rescue so he was always there.

“Fran’s in here if you want to say hi,” David offered, a sheepish smile on his face. Even a simpleton like him couldn’t have missed Fran’s vehement dislike of Ransom. She had stopped accusing him of trying to steal back the fortune, at least to his face, but civil conversation was still very much beyond her. Over the years, she had undergone two procedures to graft new skin over the burns and she was now going through physical therapy again to get used to the legs after the latest surgery. This was making her even more irritable than normal.

“Eh, I’ll save it for when I’m leaving.”

“Have you ever heard of aversion therapy?” David asked.

Ransom blinked and belatedly realized that David had sounded… coy. Did the man have a brain? A…a personality? It was true that Ransom hadn’t paid him much attention before, even after two years of Marta’s kind and patient voice in his ear he was still quick to judge people and avoid ‘wasting time’ on the annoying ones.

Without Marta there to act as his moral barometer, he had to actually decide how to handle things on his own. Accept this invitation and suffer unseen consequences? Or refuse and risk missing something good?

“What the Hell? I’ll say ‘hi’.” Ransom eventually acquiesced.

By the time lunch was ready, everyone was exhausted from the tension. No one bowed out though, too stubborn for their own good. Well, everyone except David, who seemed to have the uncanny ability to ignore bad vibes and live in his own happy headspace. With not a small amount of panache he had bridged the gap between Fran’s stony, one-word answers and Ransom’s thin, thin interest in conversation. It was almost impressive.

Cynically, Ransom wondered if David had a similar plan to his old one and spent most of the main course trying to work him out. He took in the man’s posture and body language: angled towards Fran but not closed off from everyone else; relaxed face and shoulders.

He seemed as genuine as could be. Ransom spent a depressing minute contemplating how he himself had fooled two people at the table. But not Fran. Had it been her years of bad experiences of him or had she sensed his insincerity? Well, he hadn’t made  _ that  _ much of an effort to trick her.

Watching her unwind under David’s attention, Ransom decided that he shouldn’t expect forgiveness from her. She didn’t owe him a damn thing. So when David suggested Ransom help Fran with her PT, as her doctor had advised she do more exercises at home, Ransom let Fran’s sharp rebuke hang over them for a moment before commenting neutrally.

“Dr. Xi is the best.”

Then he carried on eating. After another beat, Marlene began talking about her plans for the greenhouse and David and Alicia joined in.

In the end, between Fran’s foul mood and David’s sunny presence, Ransom much preferred Marlene’s aloof and reluctant hosting. She even allowed him to help clear away at the end of the meal. Sniffing, she only gave him instructions and the pair worked in relative quiet.

“ _ Ya está _ .­” She told him eventually and he turned around, realizing that there really wasn’t anything left to do.

She wasn’t quite looking at him but from her expression, he knew she was waiting for him to leave.

“ _ Gracias por la comida _ .” He said simply.

She didn’t reply and he left. 

Alicia dragged him to her bedroom balcony and they looked out at the grounds.

“It’s still strange, coming back here on break.” She commented. “Doesn’t feel like home.”

Ransom had a lot of memories of running wild in and out of the house as a child; finding all the best places and best vantage points to hurl water balloons at servants and nannies. As much entertainment he’d extracted from the place, he acknowledged that for Alicia it had been the home of the mysterious rich guy who’d caused a whole lot of trouble for her sister. A place that entitled assholes still lusted over.

“How’s Sasha?” He asked. Alicia took the topic change easily and they had a nice catch up. In all, he was glad she’d badgered him into it.

...

He called Marta later that day and listened with rapt attention to her tales of Guatemalan food, sights and people she’d met on her trip. She’d finished touring the foundation and was spending a few days relaxing with a host family.

“One of the little girls has really taken a shine to Nelson,” Marta was telling him, a smile in her voice, “she follows him around like a little puppy.”

Ransom chuckled. “You have got to take some pics of that.”

“Will do.” She laughed back. Then she sighed.

“You alright?” He asked.

“There’s something else. Meg sent me a letter. She’s getting out on parole soon and wants to meet.”

“Oh, wow.” Ransom murmured, stunned. He’d received a few calls from his cousin since he’d visited her but they’d never really had much to talk about beyond summaries of their daily lives. Although being prison had still been scary for Meg, she’d realized that no one was going to kill her in her sleep 

She was in a low security facility and most of the other inmates were in for petty theft and white collar crimes. He couldn't remember her mentioning her parole hearing coming up.

He said this to Marta.

“There was something about overcrowding.” She explained distractedly.

“What does she want from you?”

“To meet. She wants to explain, well, so she says, anyway.”

“When are you thinking?”

“You assume that I am going.” She stated flatly.

“Marta, I know you are.”

“But you don't think I should.”

“My thoughts on the matter are irrelevant.”

“No, they’re not. She hurt you. Could have almost killed you.”

­“And I forgave her for that. It's up to you whether you forgive her for what she did to you. But my hunch is you want to give her a chance to explain.”

“Yes I do. Would it bother you?”

“I wouldn't get offended if that’s what you mean. I might worry about it upsetting you but that’s on me. You do what you think is best.”

“That’s the problem. I don't think I know what that is.”

“Well, you have a few more days on your trip. Take the time to think. You don't have to decide now.” Ransom frowned. “Wait. When and how did you get this letter?”

“It was sent to the office. Kerry faxed it over.”

Biting back chastisement for her not using her break to actually relax, he sighed.

“Of course she did. Well, I hope Nelson is enforcing bedtime.

She huffed. “He is, actually.”

...

Two weeks later, as Ransom predicted, Marta went to meet with Meg at a coffee shop on the outskirts of the town Joni lived in. Ransom was working at the charity that day. He was back to volunteering as a physical therapy aide and thankfully hadn't been roped into fundraising again.

He continued to be gruff and disinterested in small talk but several people had commented that he looked happier ever since he’d started seeing Marta again. Not that they knew the reason.

It made him realize that despite his closed off behavior, a few people actually liked him. Or were motivated to pretend to like him, anyway.

It was odd: to gain something meaningful without really trying. Sure, in the past, he'd gotten laid and collected favors just based on his looks and money alone. However, these overtures of friendship actually meant something. So, despite himself, he began to reciprocate a little.

He started to mention a remembered detail here, give a sincere compliment there. Just in appreciation. Jane was one of those people and she would get this triumphant grin whenever he was polite. As if she knew with some work he’d become a nice person. He wanted to hate her for that, but couldn’t.

It was because of this new appreciation that he was at the reception, listening to the sunny receptionist’s ‘funny’ cat story when Marta came in.

“Hugo.”

Ransom turned and didn't even need to take in her crumpled expression or red eyes to know that something was wrong. She had planned to call him, not turn up unannounced at his volunteering gig.

He went over and ignoring her stammering apologies, enveloped her in a hug.

She didn't break down but he could feel the tension in her whole body.

“Whatever happened, it's going to be okay.” He murmured.

Marta sniffed and pulled away silently. Getting more worried by the second, Ransom led her to a chair and sat her down.

“Stay here I'll be right back.”

He ran to tell Jane that he was leaving early and he would make up hours another day. Then grabbed his stuff. Ushering Marta out of reception to his car, he didn't ask her any questions wanting to get them to Benoit’s so he could pay full attention to her.

Benoit was away on a case, so it would just be them. He got them there quickly and guided her inside.

Tea was always Benoit’s go to, so Ransom muddled his way through making some – how long were you meant to keep the bag in? He tried not to picture Benoit cringing somewhere.

They sat at the kitchen table.

Marta thanked him absently for the tea. Then said in a small broken voice. “I can't forgive her.”

There had been a time that Ransom would have shrugged at that or scoffed. Now he knew just how devastating that fact was. Part of him missed those self-centered days. He would have made a quip and left, if he'd been there at all.

As he was, he had no idea if there even was anything reassuring to say. He settled for holding her hand, gently squeezing it and listening carefully as Marta continued.

“She looked really bad: thin and tired. She told me she has nightmares every night, that she regrets it. She regrets everything. That she wishes…”

Marta trailed off into hiccupping sobs.

Ransom stood up and pulled her head to his stomach. She went gladly, clinging to him tightly. Ransom kept his breath even. As much as he hated to hear how distraught she was, he knew that it wasn't through malicious intent. Meg had used all of her cards to try to be forgiven, yes, but Ransom didn't believe that any of it had been lies. So he just held her as the tea cooled on the table.

Later, once her eyes had dried and she began to slump against him he helped her into the spare bed where Alicia had stayed.

“What time is it?” She asked me sleepily.

“Just gone four in the afternoon. Take a nap; you're exhausted.”

She agreed, voice still hoarse and quiet. He pulled the covers up to her shoulders but she extracted a hand and grabbed his arm.

“Stay?”

Ransom hesitated. As they’d grown closer over the years, re-cultivating the close relationship they’d known before, both of them had been very conscious of keeping a certain distance. Hugs and the odd platonic touch were fine but nothing beyond that. Certainly not curling up together on a bed. 

Looking at Marta’s tear-stained face, however, Ransom was helpless to comply. 

_ She just needs some comfort.  _ He told the ache in his chest as he toed off his shoes.

“Of course.” Climbing up and sitting up against the headboard, he put a tentative arm around her. Marta snuggled into his side and they got comfortable.

“I still love you.” She murmured.

Ransom tensed but Marta didn't seem to notice, slipping into sleep.

Her familiar scent wafted up to him; her body warm and solid against him. His heart throbbed with longing so intense he thought he might choke on it. Sniffing, he rubbed her shoulder lightly and tried not to cry.

…

About an hour later, he woke her up and left her to freshen up in the bathroom. He made more tea. She half-smiled when he gave it to her and drank some. The tight bands around his heart eased a little.

They sat on the couch.

“I feel better, thank you.”

Ransom just nodded, cradling his own mug a little protectively.

She went on. “I’m scared that I don’t know who I am any more. I’m scared that the money’s changed me. I just... Am I different? Can you say something?”

“I like listening to you.” Ransom replied.

Marta blinked as he continued. “I feel like when I am listening to you, I can’t go wrong.”

He put down his mug and took hers as well. As much as he hated giving too much of his inner self away, Marta deserved to know exactly what she meant to him.

“You are not my conscience exactly. You just… you help me see it. I have never doubted your voice. And you have never steered me wrong.”

Marta sat there, stunned.

Ransom smiled gently. “Are you different? Yes, a little more confident, more prepared to fight for what is right. But your voice? It hasn’t changed at all.”

Those big eyes looked up at him and he tried to pour all of his love into his face, tried to show her exactly how much – lips were on his, so quickly he hadn’t even seen her move.

They were frozen in a moment both past and present. Then Marta broke away, face flushing furiously.

“Hugo, I…” She stammered.

He shifted closer and cupped her cheek with one hand. “I still love you, too.” He whispered.

They kissed again; at first soft and hesitant, but growing with urgency with every heartbeat.

“What are we doing?” She asked before tilting her head and pressing harder against him.

“Kissing.” Ransom re pli ed mostly seriously, as they pulled back and shifted again so she was straddling him. The new position made them both groan as she ground down on him, his hand caressing her back through her blouse. They made out, the actions both familiar and new.

“Bedroom.” Ransom rasped at some point. His whole body was alight with joy and lust. 

“Yes, Hugo, take me there.” Dutifully, he lifted her into his arms and took her to his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Que no, Marta, es domingo.= No way, Marta, it’s Sunday.  
> ¿Necesitas ayuda? = Do you need help?  
> ¡La engañaste! = You led her astray!  
> No entiendo = I don’t understand.  
> Mi Alicia, sin ti, ya tendría mi cielo = My Alicia, without you I would still have my darling.  
> Alicia? I didn’t…uh, no hice nada a Alicia = Alicia? I didn’t, uh, I didn’t do anything to Alicia.  
> ¡Hombre metrosexual, con pelo de cerebro! Era buena chica, normal... = Metrosexual with hair for brains. She was a good girl, normal…  
> Marlene, lo siento por… causando problemas a tu familia. No tuve la intención de = Marlene, I’m sorry for… causing problems to your family. I didn’t have the intention of…  
> [Ransom makes some grammar errors here and is translating directly from English so it sounds awkward. Something more natural would be: “No quise crearos problemas.” “I didn’t mean to create problems for you all.”]


	8. Afraid, But Stronger

Later, Marta redressed to call her mom, in order to reassure her that she was fine; not to report on him, as Ransom had teased her. Once the call was over, she came back into the bedroom to find Ransom low-level freaking out.

“What if I hurt you again?” He blurted, shaking a pillow out of its case and dropping the case onto the pile of dirty linens on the floor.

Marta watched him from the door as he continued stripping the bed and worrying out loud. “I know I’m not the same, and you’re different too but what if I can’t help myself? What if I revert?”

He ran out of things to throw to the floor and stared at the pile a moment.

“Hugo.”

He looked up and went to her as she beckoned, sniffing. She stepped up close to him, sliding her arms around his waist and ignoring his damp cheeks.

“You told me once that you didn’t like to be alone with your thoughts; that sometimes you scared yourself.”

He swallowed, relaxing in her embrace as her words washed over him.

“You’re not alone anymore. Even if something took me, Alicia, Anita and Benoit out, you still wouldn’t be alone for long because you’ve learned how to make connections, real, human connections. You could do it again if you had to.”

“I don’t want to lose you.” His arms around her tightened.

“So keep me. And I’ll keep you.” She answered.

Laughing a little, he squeezed and then let her go, wiping his face. He coughed and shook out his shoulders. “What now?”

“Let’s do some laundry and we’ll figure it out as we go along.”

He followed her gaze to the pile and laughed again.

…

There was some pushback – Fran and Marlene understandably against the renewed relationship. Marta, however, showed little patience with their arguments, citing her status as a grown woman who had all past experience to help her. Marlene gave Ransom a shovel talk he’d mostly understood which Alicia seconded, adding embellishments along with the translations.

“Marta seems happy.” Alicia had added at the end of her speech.

“Hope to keep it that way.” Ransom had responded.

Fran didn’t try to dissuade him exactly, just reiterated her disapproval of him in general. He hadn’t been surprised, so hadn’t given it much thought. They did have a breakthrough, however.

“Did you hear?” Fran asked him randomly one day.

Ransom paused, one foot hovering slightly above the ground as he stared at Fran down the corridor. Slowly, he put the foot down and asked. “Heard what?”

Fran walked closer, her limp hardly noticeable any more. “The little bitch ‘reached out to me’.” Fran spat, fingers almost shaking as they curled into air quotes. “She wanted me to forgive her! Can you believe that?”

Ah, Meg must have finally plucked up the courage to contact Fran. Ransom was a little impressed, he wasn’t sure he’d ever find the guts to do that.

“Of course I slammed the phone down. What does she take me for? Anyway, did she call you?” Fran asked conversationally.

Ransom blinked, feeling a little like he’d been transported into an alternate dimension. “Uh, yeah, a couple years ago. I went to see her in prison.”

Fran huffed but stepped a little closer, interest obvious in her face. “Oh yeah? And what did you tell her?”

He shrugged. “I said that I forgave her.”

Fran stared at him, mouth opening but no sound coming out.

Uncomfortable with the scrutiny, he went on as nonchalantly as he could. “Can’t really throw stones.” 

Fran scoffed. “As much as you’re an asshole, you didn’t try to kill anyone.”

“She wasn’t trying to kill us.” He shot back. “She was just scared and stupid.”

“Scared?”

“Her whole world was falling apart and the people who were meant to support her were abandoning her. How was she meant to work out how to survive on her own if no one had ever told her that she could?”

Fran stared at him and his jaw clicked shut. _Damn._ After a beat, Fran recovered herself and snarled. “Well, it’s easy for you to say that, considering you’re not scarred for life.”

Tired, he didn’t argue, only replying. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

As she stalked away, Ransom thought; number of actual, human conversations with Fran: 1.

…

For Thanksgiving that year, Marta decided to invite the whole family to the house.

“You sure?” Ransom had asked, remaining firm through Marta’s raised eyebrow. “It’s an honest question.”

“Yes, I know some may take offence but I want to make the gesture.”

“Then I support you 100%.”

“So you’ll tell your mother? Great!”

“Wait! Marta!”

Surprisingly, everyone Marta invited came, except Joni, who was showing solidarity with the excluded Meg, and Richard, who had some excuse Ransom didn’t bother listening to.

Marta felt guilty about not inviting Meg - still working on forgiving her, though her therapist and Ransom insisted she didn’t need to. Marlene opted to go on a trip rather than attend but Alicia wanted to support her sister and also goad the family into offending Marta and thereby setting off Ransom.

“That’s evil.” Ransom had commented when she’d related her plan. They were eating ice cream in one of the mansion’s studies, Alicia over for the weekend. He’d come over after his volunteering shift as Marta was a state over at a meeting with someone. 

“There is nothing more entertaining in this world than watching you eviscerating people.”

Ransom harrumphed. He did like letting loose on assholes – mostly those who tried harassing Marta or Alicia in public, or online in Alicia’s case. But on this occasion…

“Okay, two things. One: Marta wants this to go well,”

“Marta wants a lot of things.”

Ransom tilted his head, unimpressed by that reasoning, and continued, “two: sparring with my family is never fun.” His shoulders inched up, “most of them have known me since I was born. They got just as much dirt on me as I do on them.”

Alicia licked her spoon clean. “Such as?”

Nudging the ice cream tub out of her hands, he dug his spoon in and shrugged. “Oh, just the usual: stupid kid, no prospects, airhead playboy.”

“That’s not so bad.”

“Glad you think so.” He chuckled.

“Well, now you’ve got Alicia Cabrera in your corner.” She shoulder-bumped him and he smiled.

Ransom bit back an ‘I told you so’ a few weeks later when Jacob muttered something vaguely racist at the dinner table.

The pre-dinner drinks and nibbles had been awkward enough but everyone had been on their best behavior. Linda had managed a nice conversation with Marta about some antiques Marta had let Linda take from the house. Walt had been trying to make nice with Fran, who at least hated him less than she did Ransom. Jacob had answered Alicia’s faux-interested queries into his hobbies with grunts and Donna had pointedly ignored any direct questions in favor of nodding along mutely.

Ransom had engaged Alicia in conversation to release the pressure on Jacob, seeing the kid’s knuckles had turned white where he was gripping his phone.

It had been going well until about halfway through dinner, the little shit had plucked up the courage to mutter an audible complaint about his host. Alicia, who was closer to him than Marta, flicked her hair over her shoulder; expression hardening even as her eyes lit up.

“Excuse me, _gringo_. Got something to say?”

“Alicia…” Marta warned, but her sister didn’t take her eyes off Jacob, who was looking around for support.

“Am I the only one who’s gonna say it? This is bullshit!”

“That’s enough.” Walt said, glancing at Marta.

Jacob’s jaw ticked and everyone held their breath, waiting to see what he’d do next. Everyone except Alicia, who began to smirk.

Jacob took the bait. “This is _our_ home!”

“But it’s not though.” Alicia hit back, smirk growing.

“You latino bitch!”

The table erupted in outrage.

“Jacob! Language!” Donna hissed under Walt and Linda’s admonishments.

Ransom leaned back in his seat, slow clapping. “Clever.”

Jacob narrowed his eyes at his cousin.

“Jacob.” Marta addressed him sharply. “You are welcome in this house only if you respect both my family and guests.” She raised a hand. “Clearly you have some problems.”

Nelson walked in. Jacob paled.

Donna burst out. “Oh, please! He’s just a confused boy, don’t hurt him!”

“Calm down, Donna,” Linda rolled her eyes, “he’s a bodyguard, not a hitman.”

“You’re on _her_ side?” Donna asked.

“We’re all the same family.” Ransom announced, cutting through the rumblings. He looked to Marta and she inclined her head slightly. He went on. “Marta is the head – I know you all wished things turned out differently, but they didn’t. Accept it or don’t.”

“Easy for you to say, sell out.” Jacob spat.

Nelson moved closer and Jacob shrank into his seat.

“Come on, kid.” Nelson rumbled.

“Stop him!” Donna appealed to Marta.

Marta’s features were as if carved in marble as she replied. “Jacob has not apologized for disrespecting people at this table.”

Everyone looked at the college kid. He swallowed. “I…” His eyes narrowed. “You’re all insane.” He shoved away from the table and stormed out.

In the stunned silence, Walt stood. “Marta, thank you for hosting and I apologize for my son. Come on, Donna.”

The couple left quietly, a stagnant unease hanging over the room.

“Uh, maybe we can skip dessert.” Ransom suggested, eyeing Marta’s expression closely.

Linda straightened in her chair. “I think we all need a drink. I know where Dad kept the good stuff.” She glanced at Marta. “As long as that’s…”

Marta waved a hand. “Please, lead the way.”

An hour later, Ransom realized that he was drinking three-thousand-dollar Imperial Rum with his mother, partner and friend. He was, in fact, drunk with all of them. Alicia was dancing with Marta to an old jazz record and trying to entice Nelson to join in. In turn, he was encouraging them to take the bottles of water he was holding out to them – it was an interesting back and forth.

Ransom looked away and stared at his mother, sitting in the armchair beside his. Had he ever seen her drunk before? Her head was wobbling slightly and she was giggling. Ransom searched his memory. No, he didn’t think he’d ever seen such a sight before.

She turned her head and saw him looking.

“Hey Mom.” He called.

Linda chuckled and waved. “Hello, honey.”

Grinning, he took another sip. Linda rested her chin on the palm of her hand, features softening.

“Ransom. Are you happy?”

He blinked. What an odd question. He thought about it for a moment. “Yeah.” His lips pulled wide. “Yeah, I am. You?”

“Yes.” And she smiled too.

“Linda! Dance with Nelson!” Alicia came up and cajoled Linda to join in. Embarrassed by his mother’s moves, Ransom was happily distracted by Marta dropping onto his lap.

“ _Hola._ ” He greeted, a hand shooting around Marta’s shoulders to keep her from tipping back.

“ _¿Me extrañaste?_ ” 

Her breath smelled of rum and her eyes were half-lidded, though her fingers through his beard weren’t clumsy at all.

“ _Sí._ ” He whispered, too busy drinking in the sight and feel of her to move.

“ _Gracias por lo de antes_.”

“You did all the work.” He replied, lips twitching upward. “You really put him in his place. _Muy sexy_.”

“ _Pero es verdad. Somos una familia_.”

“ _Sí, es verdad_.” 

She kissed him firmly and they low-key made out until Alicia squirted water at them. Marta sobered up enough to help Nelson ensure Linda and Alicia were set up for the night, then she took Ransom’s hand and they went to her room.

…

One day in summer, Ransom asked Marta to clear her schedule for a morning. As he so rarely made requests of her time beyond when they both naturally had an opening to go on a date or do something special she was intrigued, and a little nervous.

The next week he drove her to the farm where they’d picked strawberries years ago. It was late in the season so it was slim pickings. Still, they got a basket and went around the field. Marta hadn’t missed the tension in Ransom’s frame or his internal quiet on the drive over. She let him go at his own pace, following him around the field.

After a while he stopped walking and turned to look at her.

“I almost told you I loved you. When we came here last.”

Marta swallowed, not sure what to say. She didn’t remember much beyond feeling happy that day. Though almost all her memories of ‘before’ now had a coating of doubt – how much had been real? How much manipulation? Although she’d forgiven him and acknowledged he’d developed genuine feelings for her – none of that completely erased the past.

“It freaked me out, that urge to stay with you forever, protect you, love you. It changed everything. I think it was here I realized that I couldn’t carry on lying – not consciously – but some part of me knew.”

Marta bit her lip. She didn’t really want to relive any of that. It was good he was being honest with her – still thrilled her when he shared what he was thinking even when it wasn’t pleasant. She also saw that this line of thought had been on his mind a long time, that he needed to say it. And yet, it made her uncomfortable to be reminded of her self-loathing. He saw this.

“I am so grateful that you forgave me, that you’re giving me, us, a second chance. But I don’t think that I’ll ever stop being afraid that I’ll hurt you again.”

Stepping into his space, she took his hands. “I don’t expect you to be perfect.”

He chuckled. “Definitely won’t be that.” Then he took a deep breath. “Marta, _te amo_.”

Her eyes prickled and she sniffed, not wanting to ruin the moment. “ _Te amo tambien_.”

Ransom stared at her, brow wrinkling.

Marta wet her lip. “I’m scared too. I’m scared I’m fooling myself.”

He winced and she hated it – but it was true. A tear rolled down her cheek and he wiped it away gently.

“But it’s worth it.” She whispered.

“How are you so strong?”

“I don’t feel strong.”

“You are.”

She kissed him in lieu of answering and his hand moved to cup her face, one hand steady at her waist. She pulled back a little.

“I believe we can do this.”

Ransom smiled. “Me too.”

…

“It’s our two-year anniversary coming up.” Ransom said one day, apropos of nothing.

They were sitting in one of the drawing rooms; Ransom reading the newspaper, Mata one of her novels. With Ransom’s PT course and Marta’s charitable work, it was rare for them both to be in the house in the morning. Those precious occasions were spent in one room or other, drinking tea and coffee and sharing a companionable quiet; anyone else in the building had strict instructions not to disturb them.

Marta tilted her head in consideration. “It is?”

“Uhuh.” Ransom says, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye before pretending to go back to reading the newspaper he was holding. “You know if you propose, I’ll consider it.”

Staring at him, she asked uncertainly. “You want me to propose?”

He shrugged, face still hidden behind the newspaper. “If you want.”

Expression clearing as her heart began to pound, she teased him smilingly. “You really are the least romantic person I’ve ever met.”

He mock-gasped and finally put the paper down. “Marta Cabrera! Are you really shaming a man for wanting a woman to propose to him? What century are you from?”

She just raised her eyebrows as her lips pulled up and up and up.

Relenting, he leaned forward and pecked her on those mischievous lips. “Yeah, you know me.”

Her eyes danced as she replied. “I do. And I’ll think about it.”

“Be still my beating heart.” He dramatically collapsed back into his chair and she hit him with her novel, laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¿Me extrañaste? = Did you miss me?  
> Gracias por lo de antes = thanks for earlier  
> Muy sexy = very sexy  
> Pero es verdad. Somos una familia = but it’s true we’re a family  
> Te amo tambien = I love you too.
> 
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it  
> :D


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